Sink or Swim
by JabberjayHeart
Summary: "My fingers curl for the paper, spreading it out on the hardwood desk. Fog rolling over murky waters. A moon shaped in the form of a skull. Blood stained on the sides, stained... everywhere..." Welcome to the 135th Hunger Games!
1. What The Water Gave Me Part One

**What The Water Gave Me by Florence + The Machine.**

* * *

**What The Water Gave Me Part One.**

_Lay me down, let the only sound, be the overflow._

* * *

**Sink or Swim - The 135th Hunger Games.**

**Personal Nanny Marisol Solis.**

* * *

Snow Island. It was something you could only dream of.

For me, it was a dream. I remember many early mornings, waking up and walking out onto the pebble beach that lined half of District Eleven. The foggy hue would lay heavily on the sea, the peak of the island just visible in the distance. Sometimes, I would just stare. Stare and drink in the sights of where the rich and powerful could go. I would be trapped forever, but they could just be whisked away to a grove of palm trees and a golden beach that curved the island.

Living in poverty was hard. Having a big family was even harder. With parents working and younger siblings begging and crying for food, you did what you had to do. I did what I had to do.

The first time I stole wasn't so bad. A loaf of bread and a jar of marmalade, gently tucked away into my basket. No-one knew; it worked. I grow cocky, though. The second time I went for something bigger; a leg of lamb. I barely made it out of their alive, still concealing the fresh meat.

My third time saw my youth altered. Caught red-handed, desperately trying to sneak some cookies into my pockets for my little sister's birthday.

I was dragged from the shop, kicking and screaming. People pooled around the middle of the district, ready to watch the public execution.

I was only eleven years old. Uneducated, and suffering from everlasting hunger.

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can hear the faint crack of leather, or the smell of my own blood caking my back. Stars were swimming in my vision when everything went black. I thought I was dead - that I was nothing more than a corpse - but I soon woke up... except, I was in the air. On a hovercraft, being whisked away like a prisoner.

They called me a slave. At first, the words didn't register, and my only reaction was to whimper and squirm on the medical bed. Blood flooded my tongue, something furry pressed against the roof of my mouth. It took me a while to realise that they had ripped out my tongue.

We arrived in the Capitol almost instantly.

And, once more, I was trapped... forever.

They pushed me onto a stage amongst other children, all from differing districts. I waited and watched as Capitolites flooding in, their wallets in their hands and their eyes trained on my body. They asked the foreman questions; like how much we could handle to carry, or the hours we'd be able to work.

I was to be sold like an item, like a toy.

* * *

I carefully fold the sheets, making sure that there are no creases. Mistress would be displeased if she found out. I wince, the bitter memory of my last punishment still lingers in my mind. Vivienne Belvaire is a cruel woman. She takes no prisoners when it comes to high demands, and even higher expectations.

But I've lasted years now. Two decades, in fact. Two decades I have served under the woman and this household, ever since she was but a toddler. My loyalty and new position gained me my tongue back. All Avoxs, those loyal and determined, would be given it back if required. To be a nanny, I needed to speak. I was blessed with a tongue, a second chance to speak again...

...only to spend it screaming most of the time.

The door opens wildly, slamming against the wall. I flinch, freezing in my tracks.

"Marisol," the woman drawls. "Have you finished the laundry yet?"

"No, Mistress." I reply quietly.

"See to it. We haven't got long until vacation, and Megana needs her clothes packed immediately." I turn around, Vivienne's jet black hair contrasting against the pristine, white walls. "Do I make myself clear?" I nod hurriedly. "Good. Now, have you seen Arturo?"

I swallow thickly. The young boy often wanders off, his juvenile mind something that gets him in a lot of trouble. "No, Mistress."

She crosses the room swiftly. I barely have time to prepare myself for the slap, before my cheek is soon stinging and I'm swallowing back tears. "Do not lie to me," she hisses. "Where is he?"

"He... he's with Sorbus attending to Mister Theodore's room." I cave.

Briskly, Vivienne leaves, the door slamming once more. Arturo is nothing more than a servant, an even worse job than the one I've been promoted to. He's only young - fourteen, he once signed to me - and was sent as a slave to this household, just because he questioned the Capitol's morals. He's brave and reckless. Something I can only wish for the future generation.

Quickly, I finish my chores, leaving the room in perfect condition. I rub my cheek as I walk down the hall, heading towards Megana's bedroom.

I knock twice, before it swings open. "Mary!" the girl screams, throwing herself at my legs.

I pry her from my dress. "Hello, sweetie," I coo, stroking her hair. "Are we ready to back your things?"

"I've already done them," she stands proudly. "Jakob helped me!"

She shoves the small white teddy bear in my face, the button black eyes looking hollow. I smile softly; that toy has done nothing but creeped me out. But, Megana is seven, and children at that age love their toys more than they do reality. Megana is the perfect example - a child bathed in riches, yet doesn't see that I'm nothing more than a slave, a servant, her nanny. She treats Arturo and the younger servants like friends, rather than the help.

I enter the room, the sickly smell of roses hitting my nostrils.

Megana is the daughter of Vivienne Belvaire, who happens to be Esmeralda Snow's step-daughter. It was a tragic meeting. Shortly after the Quarter Quell, I heard the murmurs in the Belvaire's household, of how Virgil, the Master, was dating Esmeralda Snow. When their engagement was announced, the family moved, and I was brought along seeing as I was their most trusted servant.

I would later become her midwife, and then the surrogate mother to a daughter who is lost to them all.

"Quick, we must hurry," I say softly, despite the urgency. It smothers my lungs, making me take heavy breaths. "Your family is waiting on the roof for you."

I usher Megana's belongings into my arms and clasp her hand. Gently, I pull her out of the room and along the hall, towards Raphael Belvaire's room, her uncle. I knock three times as required, and step back. The door opens and reveals the hulking man, his black hair gelled back. "Marisol." he says curtly.

"Mistress wanted me to bring Megana here, before the flight." I recite the words known to me.

"Thank you," he says coldly, turning to look at Megana. "And are you excited?"

Like she did with me, she throws herself at Raphael's legs. "Of course! I've never been to Snow Island before!"

He gently pats her on the head, looking at me with those dead eyes of his. "I think you'd be kind enough to find my sister. I believe your "kind" is being beaten as we speak." he states with a haunting whisper.

Something inside of me turns cold. Every time I converse with Raphael, I'm left feeling like he wants my blood. He's a cruel, depraved man, much like his sister. I bow, scurrying away as fast as my legs can take me. Being beaten? He must mean little Arturo... he probably got himself in trouble again... it's not my place, but he's so young.

I rush to Master Theodore's room. I stop when I near the door, the lithe boy leaning up against the wall. He looks over his glasses with a smile. "Vivienne is having one hell of a time in there."

"May I enter?" I ask, voice shaking. He simply shrugs. "Thank you." I whisper, rushing through.

The crack of the whip snaps my brain into alert.

"Please Mistress," Sorbus begs, Arturo curled up in a corner. He's simply cowering next to Sorbus, broken and beaten. He would cry if he could speak. "I was only trying to help young Arturo... h-he couldn't reach the s-shelf!"

"I caught you stealing the food!" she screams, spittle flying as she cracks the whip across his upper arm. Sorbus howls in pain.

"No Mistress!"

Vivienne scowls. "Liar!" she lashes the whip across his back again, a broken sob breaking the air. Sorbus is older, much older than me and them, his grey hair and whiskers prominent. The pain could easily kill him. My heart pulsates as I step forward, gently putting myself in the scene. Vivienne pauses. "And what are you doing here, Marisol?"

My mind races for an answer. A lie, even. "Master Raphael. He asked for you," I look away, hoping not to be obvious. "Something about Megana."

She lowers her whip. "Is that so?" I nod. "Well then. You may leave, Sorbus," she cruelly steps over him, ignoring the whimpers. "Make sure you clean up your mess."

"Something tells me you enjoy abusing my name for your sadistic fantasies." I hear Theodore snigger from outside.

"Those worms need to learn their place. They are the help, not friends," she hisses. "Did Raphael really want me?"

I dare not move. My whole body freezes in one place, locked and tight. "Yes," he echoes. "Marisol was only doing her job. At least she does what she is expected to do." he lies... wait, he lied for me?

I take the opportunity fast, helping Sorbus to his feet. Arturo continues to cry, his face as pale as they come. I recognise the broken face: it looks exactly like most District Eleven children look like. Even here, their haunting resemblance catches him. I hastily place Sorbus on the bed, busying myself with cleaning the blood. Tears prick at my eyes, but I continue to scrub and dab, like I've always done most of my life.

* * *

The door opens, and a stream of light slivers through. My breath is taken away at the sight of the hovercraft, almighty under the morning sunlight. The last time I was on one, I was almost dead and being taken to a new life. Now, I'm still here.

"I'm so excited!" Megana squeals. "Mary, why can't you come?" she turns, frowning. Raphael's eyes burn into the back of my skull, and I shrink down onto my knees.

"I can't baby," I coo. "It's a family vacation. It's for you only."

"You're practically family." she pouts.

That I am. Even more so than her mother and non-existant father. "You'll have fun without me," I tuck a strand behind her ear. "And you can tell me all about it when you get back."

Over Megana's shoulder, I can see the family gathering around Esmeralda Snow. Age has finally captured her, wrinkles appearing on her once tight skin. Theodore stands idly by her side, not really registering his mother's presence. He's one of the few people that could disrespect her, and live to tell the tale.

I gently take Megana's hand and lead her over, Raphael close behind.

"Your stunt will not be accepted," he whispers. "Punishment will be ordered when we return."

An icy claw drags itself up my spine. I nod curtly, holding my breath as I reach the Snow and Belvaire family. Instantly, I recognise Esmeralda, Theodore, Vivienne, Virgil with his curly black hair, and Darlington, Vivienne's dusty token, hidden on the sidelines. Megana peels herself from my grasp and runs at her step-grandmother.

"Nanny!" she squeals. For the first time ever, I see Esmeralda smile, hauling the little girl into her arms. Theodore notably scowls from behind. "Why isn't Mary coming with us?"

"Mary? Who is Mary?" she inquires.

"Marisol Solis," Vivienne interjects. "Her nanny." she points her claw towards me, and I shrink under the glare.

Esmeralda purses her lips. "I don't see why Marisol cannot come with us," she says slowly, and my heart skips a beat. Everything inside of me screams in urgency, and Raphael's hand falls hard on my shoulder. "Come."

Raphael pushes me across the rooftop towards the lion's den. I haven't heard from Sorbus nor Arturo, which worries me even more than it should. "Yes, Mistress?"

"You may come with us. I already have an entire team of staff prepared, but alas, no nanny," she narrows her eyes, a sickly smile on her face. "You could fill that position, if you wish."

Snow Island? It was but a fleeting dream to me as a child. Now I have the chance to fly there, and explore the uncharted island. "Anything you wish, Mistress."

"Splendid," she places Megana down and cups her hands together. "I also hear on the grapevine that you have some friends? Sorbus Braxton, and Arturo Danes? They're right over there. Please join them."

I turn, my heart leaping to my throat. Sorbus and Arturo stand alongside the other slaves, many whom can talk, many whom are eternally silent. I nod hastily, prying myself from Raphael's grip as I rush over. Sorbus' eyes widen when I near, weathered looks making everything seem more... dire.

"Marisol? What are you doing here?" he whispers.

"Vacation," I reply hollowly. "I've been summoned to attend."

Sorbus frowns, his shirt stained a muted red. He's been to the island many times. Being head of repairs, Sorbus can speak, to direct instructions to the other slaves. He's always expected to attend wherever they go, in case of emergencies. "You'll wish you hadn't been..."

"Why?" I choke. Sorbus pulls a hollow Arturo into his side, the boy looking ahead without really looking.

He leans forward towards my ear. "You'll find out soon enough."

* * *

**This is the sixth instalment to the EsmeraldaVerse. If you are unfamiliar as to why we are at this stage, please look on my profile at the EsmeraldaVerse prologue to understand. If you want, there's a blog for the EsmeraldaVerse Victors called Collection of the Damned, also on my profile (as well as a one-shot series for the Victors).**

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**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

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**Longest prologue ever.**

**There were no hints (or was there?) as to the arena. The title pretty much sums up water, but that's about it. As you should know, I'm not one for clichéd arenas. I just wanted to show more of the Snow/Belvaire family, seeing as this Verse will have to end at some point.**

**Now, time to submit:**

**I have already received an onslaught of tributes by personal friends, meaning 11 spots are full.**

**However, the rest is up to you. You can submit for any of the other spots as you like.**

**I will be leaving submissions open until December 7th, of which I will choose the rest of the tributes for the story (thus your back-up could save you!), and message the successful ones. I'm no good at declining people - because I want to please everyone - so don't be offended if I don't reply/decline your tribute, it's nothing personal. Honestly.**

**Besides: I have two more SYOTs after this planned to wrap up my time here, so always luck next time!**

**You can keep updated on my profile. It will show the 11 spots taken, and the number of forms received - including girls and boys numbers - will be recorded also.**


	2. What The Water Gave Me Part Two

**What The Water Gave Me by Florence + The Machine.**

* * *

**What The Water Gave Me Part Two.**

_Lay me down, let the only sound, be the overflow._

* * *

**Sink or Swim - The 135th Hunger Games.**

**Personal Nanny Marisol Solis.**

* * *

The hovercraft beings to slow down, and my heart settles in my stomach.

I clutch Arturo to my side, Sorbus carefully placed on the other side. Arturo continues to weep, his bruises and lashes still raw, eyelids puffy. The ramp falls down, light pours in, and someone even laughs.

"You look like cooped up chicken," a cruel voice beckons. I blink away the spots, Theodore standing proud, staring down at us. "Come on. Single file please."

As ordered, we file out. Being the main family, the Snow and Belvaire's reside upstairs, in the luxury of upholstered chairs and plush carpets, whilst the "help" reside down with the belongings. I make sure to keep Arturo in sight, even when the likes of Jesper and Olivine get in the way. Sorbus keeps his hand on my shoulder, in order to lead him out.

I can't help but smile, though, as the salty smell flutters to my nose. Flashes of District Eleven burn through my mind. It's like I can feel the wash just rolling over my bare, bruised feet.

"Having fun?" Vivienne's voice is soon in the air. I turn, keeping my eyes low. I dare not look her in the eyes. "Hmm. I have a bone to pick with you, Marisol, considering my brother did not want me."

"I think I was the one who said that," Theodore joins. He jerks his head, and Sorbus scurries along. I simply step out of the line, feeling my insides knot together. "Marisol followed an order. It was me who believed that Raphael wanted you."

Vivienne smirks. "You covered for the servants?"

"Let's not forget that they are, indeed, my servants," he replies, ice laced in his voice. "I think I can do what I wish with them. Maybe I asked Marisol to toy with you?"

"And why would you do that?" she narrows her eyes. "You're sick, Theodore, but not stupid."

A smile curls on his face, reaching under his eyes. It instantly makes me nervous: Theodore, no longer the obnoxious boy, is far more calculated than he lets on. I heard that he has a major influence with the arena this year. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Vivienne," he steps forward slowly. I flinch, stuck in between. "I am, after all, the rightful heir to the Snow Dynasty. No matter how many children you manage to slide out of you like a slicked up water slide, you'll never fit in here."

Her eyes flash angry. "I wonder what your mother would say about that?"

He waves his hand carelessly. "I'm sure she'll find it amusing. In fact, I dare you to approach her. Video me the response, kay?"

It's obvious Vivienne is defeated. I want to smirk - Vivienne deserving every ounce of hate she receives - but the situation isn't right. Not when my stomach is fighting against sickness, and my throat is clogged up with nervous emotions. With no fight, Vivienne stalks away.

I bow my head. "Master, I can exp-"

"Save it," he cuts in. "I don't want to hear your excuses, nor your life story," he flashes a brief smile, but it's not happy or light. It's heavy, sinister even. "Just don't make a habit of it. I won't always protect you."

I swallow. "I'm sorry."

"Keep your apologies. What is done is done. Now, hurry on. I'm sure that the little boy and old man will need you. It'll only be so long before Vivienne gets her claws into them as punishment."

I don't think. I simply scurry along, not daring to answer Theodore Snow.

* * *

"You're late." Raphael comments as I file into the room.

I bow, avoiding his eyes. "I was with Master Theodore. He-"

"I do not care," he whispers huskily. "When you have deadlines, I expect you to complete them, considering your placement in this world," he adds, jabbing his finger at the open space. "Move."

But, when I spin around, I don't see Arturo, nor Sorbus. My heart clenches; everyone is here apart from them. They... they are the only two missing. I can't stop the fear from developing my insides as I step in line, snapping my head around. Where are they!?

"I want you to remember why you are here," Raphael begins. "This is a holiday for me and my family. I'm sure that many of you realise why you have been... chosen... to attend with us," he paces up and down the line, making sure to meet our eyes with those lifeless orbs of his. "And I expect you to do your job. I can assure you that punishment will be delivered for anyone that chooses not to. As you can see, two members of your lowly people are already being dealt with."

The lump suffocates my throat. A cry so desperately forms, ready to be released, but it can't. I don't know what Sorbus' words meant. I don't... Arturo, he's only young...

The world blurs at the edges. I can't stop myself from violently shaking... and it's only then that I realise I must be having another panic attack. This was why I fell unconscious last time! I steady myself, but it's too late.

My vision goes dark, and everything seems to pitch forward, crashing into reality.

* * *

_District Eleven._

_My home. My people. My family._

_Arturo would have family there, too. He looks like another child that I would forever see, swollen lips and sunken cheeks._

_Too much poverty. It's almost insane how District Eleven, my old home, and the Capitol, my new home, are so drastically different. I can proudly say that I miss the days of hunger and poverty, because with that came friendship and trust, a community built on helping each other out. Here... it's every colourful, cartoon character for themselves._

I awake with a startle.

When the world comes together, I realise I'm in a bed, white sheets flung over me carelessly. I wipe away the sweat on my forehead, pulling myself up. The dark room is full of shadows and expensive furniture, each stretched out and haunting within the ghostly light that creeps from under the doorframe. It's night? I look at the window, confirming my beliefs.

I pull myself from the bed. Arturo and Sorbus. Where are they?

It's not even the fact that I'm close to them - I managed to keep away from friendships, in the fear of being knifed in the back - but it's what they told me, or the desperate community I want to have here, like I did in District Eleven. I haven't quite decided on why it's affecting me so much.

I swallow the emotions and head for the door. I run my hand down my clothing, the darkness making most things impossible. I'm still in the ratty uniform, though. And then my heart stops as I reach my waist...

...I'm not wearing any underwear, and there's blood between my legs...

I buckle over, acid and sickness spilling from my throat. No, no!

They didn't... they couldn't... but there's no pain?

I don't know how long I was unconscious for. Who carried me? Who did this to me? I have so many questions, and I don't even know whether I want the answers or not.

Staggering for the door, I grasp the handle. Everything inside of me tells me that I should stay inside, where it's safe, where I can't be found by anyone... by whoever... no, no I can't think like this, not now, not when I need... when I need to gather my bearings. I pluck the door open, light bombarding my eyes. I blink away the spots, craning my head down the hallway. Long with dozens of doors, each leading to whatever the gloomy mansion contains.

I slowly move down the right, careful to make my footsteps light. Something tells me that I wasn't suppose to leave the room - whoever put me there, more than likely wanted me to stay there... when they, when they might've... I shake my head, aiming for the door right at the end. Something about it calls out to me. And, even though I shouldn't, I feel... compelled to it.

I grasp the handle once more.

Inside, the light is dim, candles swaying in the darkened room. I make out the furniture, and then the table with paperwork on top, as I step in. I gently close the door, steadying my breath.

Something about the room is unsettling. It's like... it's like I'm being watched, or something, as if eyes are trailing on me from underneath the bed or behind the curtains. I cross the room, holding my hands over my stomach. A brisk chill flutters through the room, dragging a cold spike down my spine.

And that's when I see the door. Bolted and in the corner.

A gurgled whimper breaks the silence. I freeze, limbs tightening.

"Arturo?" I whisper into the air. There's a sudden cry, causing my heart to leap to my throat. "S-Sorbus?"

As much as I want, I can't bring myself to move forward. What if I see something I don't want to see? What if I'll be subjected to whatever will happen to Sorbus and Arturo? My maternal instincts cry out for Arturo, for Sorbus despite the age difference, yet I can't make myself do it. My own fears keep me paralysed on the spot, right by the table.

My eyes move to the paperwork on the desk.

I make out a few words. Sink? Swim? My heart stops. These are the arena plans? My fingers curl for the paper, spreading it out on the hardwood desk.

Fog rolling over murky waters. A moon shaped in the form of a skull. Blood stained on the sides, stained... everywhere...

"Why are servants so bad nowadays?" Raphael's voice hits me.

I spin around, heart thumping, before a large object crashes into my skull. My vision blurs at the edges, as my body pitches forward. I hit the ground hard, still fighting against the numbing pain.

There are footsteps. I blink away the spots, but it's useless. I claw my nails into the carpet, only for a foot to come crashing on my hand. A scream erupts from my throat once more.

"Playing with your toys again, brother?"

Vivienne. I feel sick, curling up into myself on the floor. What is happening? Why me?

"She stepped out of line," he replies coldly. "She needed to be punished."

"Theodore won't be happy when he finds out," Vivienne continues. "He values these things a bit more than we do. If he finds out that you've taken another one..."

"He won't. The other two have already been dealt with. They're in the basement."

The door. It must lead to the basement. Those whimpers had to be Arturo, they just had to be. I don't doubt Raphael's sadism for a second.

"Is Marisol joining them?" Vivienne asks. My heart thumps in the silence, before she giggles. "Megana will be disappointed. She grew attached to this one."

"There are plenty more where she came from. For now, we need to sort her out. Marisol?" I murmur in response, a cry locked in my throat. I try to walk away, but someone grabs my hair, yanking me from the ground. I meet Raphael's cold eyes and instantly fear the worst. "You should have stayed in bed. Now, you'll be joining the others..."

And that's when the world turns black once more.

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**Expect the reapings between seven-ten days, and hopefully, one update a week should go to plan to get through pre-Games a lot quicker! Whichever day I update will be the weekly date.**

**Here, however, are your wonderful tributes for this story and underneath, information and such, like the blog and everything.**

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**List Of Tributes.**

**District One - Luxury.**

Male: Camillo Creed, 17.

Female: Luxe Wylde, 18.

**District Two - Masonry.**

Male: Sable Kordel, 18.

Female: Jezabel Gremory, 18.

**District Three - Technology.**

Male: Cyril Faraday, 16.

Female: Blair Taverly, 18.

**District Four - Fishing.**

Male: Alvar Zale, 18.

Female: Cera Monet, 17.

**District Five - Power.**

Male: Bennett Helling, 14.

Female: Demara Chass, 18.

**District Six - Transportation.**

Male: Oker Harvoth, 18.

Female: Faele Resquin, 15.

**District Seven - Lumber.**

Male: August Dreygon, 17.

Female: North Merrean, 16.

**District Eight - Textiles.**

Male: Satchel Taupe, 14.

Female: Clio Dimity, 16.

**District Nine - Grain.**

Male: Keran Farley, 17.

Female: Alyssum Harper, 17.

**District Ten - Livestock.**

Male: Orion Tallen, 15.

Female: Serpine Dextra, 16.

**District Eleven - Agriculture.**

Male: Deacon Fleet, 18.

Female: Leona Verbena, 16.

**District Twelve - Coal.**

Male: Callum Reeves, 15.

Female: Beatrix Reiser, 16.

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**The blog for this story is_ sinkorswim hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Who are your favourite tributes from just a simple, first impression look at the blog? As in biased, judged impressions?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

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**Here we have it. Just for reference, some things might've changed, like age or lookalike or what I added to the blog. I'm sorry if you weren't told, but it was a last minute change I needed to do to distinguish them from others. I tried to let as many know, but got distracted!**

**As said, I'll be posting the Reapings when I can. Hopefully people know my layout at this point. Feel free to look at the ****Victors on the blog, we have new faces, of course.**

**And just to let everyone who submitted know that I'm overwhelmed, thankful, and appreciative. I couldn't believe the response. It was a tough job, a lot of stress, and I hope no-one feels bad about it. I'll be messaging everyone shortly.**


	3. Only If For The Night

**Only If For The Night by Florence + The Machine.**

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**Only If For The Night.**

_And the only solution was to stand and fight. And my body was bruised, and I was set alight._

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**Varsity Duval, District One Male.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty Eighth Victor.**

* * *

"This colour is just fabulous," I grin, staring at the swathes. "I think the uniform should be this colour. It'll really show their inner beauty."

Amethyst leans closer, cheeks tinted pink. "It's only blue." she says lightly, smiling.

"Cerulean," I laugh. "But you tried. Friendship points for you." I clap.

Amethyst laughs again, keeping her body rigid in the seat. Truth is, Amethyst is more than wary, but it's fine. She's like a little mouse you just want to capture and take home to care for. I've tried it before; Zircon complained our slumber party was making too much noise, and Amethyst was sent home by my Grandfather, Augustus.

But now I can put Zircon in his ageing, wrinkly spot because I am in charge, and he can't say nothing about it. It was a legacy; my legacy. I didn't ask for it, Kingston Academy, but blood called for me to step forward and so I did. I mean, I had only known my Grandfather for a few years before my victory, but it's safe to say that he was proud of having a grandchild. I mean, I got in the will, didn't I? That topples whatever merits Zircon thinks he deserves.

He's just a spoilt old man. I've tried to be nice to him, but jealously causes him to throw everything back in my face.

After choosing on gold and raspberry as the official uniform for Kingston Academy, we settle into silence before the big moment.

"Are you nervous?" Amethyst asks gently.

My eyes widen. "Well, I was trying not to think about it," I frown, shying away. "It's my first big move. It could go really, really wrong, you know."

I only inherited Kingston Academy last year. I've barely had time to choose the right people. In the end, I decided on Luxe Wylde and Camillo Creed, mainly because Aphrodite recommended them. Luxe is a little unhinged, but not so psychopathic in the sense she wants to decapitate you. And Camillo won that big tournament - war class, we call it, due to the teams - earlier in the year, single-handedly nonetheless. Both are talented in their own rights.

"It'll be fine," she comforts, sliding her hand into mine. "I wouldn't say anything bad about it. Camillo is dangerously smart, and Luxe is more than a pretty face. Aphrodite chose wisely."

Aphrodite chose wisely. It was her, not me. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth to know that I relied on someone else to do my job. People won't respect me enough... but then again, once they see the whole gold and raspberry scheme, they might lighten up to the idea more! Oh, I could hire Aphrodite as my second-in-command, like a Vice Principal at a school or something!

As we reach outside, I lead Amethyst - arm-in-arm - towards our seats. I pry her away when we sit, giggling lightly, even though my insides swish around dangerously. I want to puke all over this stage, and not just because of the colour. Amethyst flashes a comforting smile and laces her fingers with mine.

"We'll start with the females," the hideously dressed escort states, folding the slip open. "Volunteer." she then smirks, knowing the drill.

On command, I see Luxe heading forward, her lips pressed together. Her eyes flick around curiously, but really, she just looks bored as she climbs the stage. "Luxe Wylde." she says into the microphone, voice sweet and misleading.

"One down." I whisper to Amethyst. "Looks better in person than picture. Those eyebrows are killer." I nod approvingly.

Ugly-Escort makes her way to the male bowl, takes a slip, and then back again. "Volunteer." she says, as if she's funny. I roll my eyes and watch as Camillo heads towards us, his lips pulled back in a polite smile. When he hits the stage, he shakes Luxe's hand, still being a gentleman.

But looks are deceiving. As Luxe is sweet but deadly, Camillo is calm but cunning. I've learned these two in and out, particularly their measurements for outfit designs.

* * *

**Saffron Dagomir, District Two Female.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty Fourth Victor.**

* * *

What's the point?

It's the question I ask everyday. From Tarzana's commands, to Siryn's attitude, to Cadmus' rants over his family, to Lennox's recent demise in his own fire. I'm pretty sure he burned himself, but I'm not one to judge. I'm sure Siryn's preferred death would be under millions of men, money, and fake tan. Each of them are different, and yet their purpose is surrounded by one thing only. I guess they're dependent on their outlets for survival.

"What are you thinking about now?" I break away from my mind, staring at Cadmus.

"Whether Siryn would prefer to die under men or money," I respond, rather honestly actually but no-one ever believes me. "How would you like to die?"

I suspect it'll be about his family. Cadmus laughs, running a hand through his curly locks. "Women then."

I look down at my papers, disinterested. "I do know you're straight, Cadmus, there's no need to force your heterosexuality upon me."

There's a short silence, before Cadmus coughs. "You never mentioned how you'd like to die."

I study the question for a moment, a multitude of answers filling my brain quickly. "I have many wishes for how it would happen, if I was giving the chance," I answer. "Maybe in my sleep. It's more poetic and sophisticated than anything else."

"You wouldn't feel a thing, though. I thought this was about preferable, exaggerated deaths?"

I grip harder on the paperwork in my lap, unable to look up at Cadmus. "I never said that," I reply, my tongue feeling thick. "My correct words were how you would like to die. There's a fine line between realism and dreams. I picked reality. You picked hormones."

Out of all the Victors, I'm possibly most close to Cadmus. There's only four years between our victories, with mine being last year. Yet, even so, our personalities are still polar opposites. I don't particularly care for Cadmus, but I'd rather him than anyone else. The others grate on me too much. At least Cadmus is wary with his words, or too stupid to really want to delve into my psyche like the Capitol-appointed therapist I've been given at my disposal.

Cadmus suddenly taps my shoulder, and I realise I zoned out of the conversation. I follow his eyes, seeing the leather jacket-clad students enter the grounds. District Two openly shows their trained tributes now. It's no secret; we flaunt it. Flaunt what? The fact that the children are bloodthirsty, fame-hungry sluts and murderers.

I wasn't like them. Then again, I guess I tried too hard to not be. And I hated that leather jacket.

"Who are they again?" Cadmus asks, just as the escort, Petunia, takes the first slip.

"Sable Kordel and Jezabel Gremory," I point out, showing him the paperwork I've been noting down. Sable's main strength is his lack of fear when it comes to blood and gore. Jezabel's is "guile", which is pointless but I'll put it down anyway, seeing as she doesn't have many strengths besides it. "Find the curly-haired miniature version of you and the stereotypical, blonde bombshell, and those are our tributes."

Petunia doesn't bother to read the slip out. She holds it in the air with a smile. "I am taking on females right about now."

"I guess I should volunteer then!" a confident blonde remarks loudly, stepping out from the crowd around her. "I'm Jezabel Gremory!" she greets herself, strutting down the aisle like it's a runway.

"She's yours," I instantly say, disgusted by her already. I knew I would, but wow, she's even worse than I imagined. "I'd rather take on Mini-Cadmus."

Cadmus' eyes light up, though, his hormones clear in his light blue eyes.

Jezabel takes the stage as Petunia flashes the male slip. This time, she doesn't say anything, and a boy sprints towards the front, face truly gleefully. He jumps for the stage, landing squarely next to Jezabel's stick figure. Petunia hands him the microphone, and through a giddy smile, he laughs. "I'm Sable Kordel..." he leans closer, placing his lips to the microphone carefully. "...and I like blood." he breaks out into the sweetest grin possible, the opposite of his statement.

"Well he's not like me then." Cadmus grimaces.

I guess I'm thankful for that too.

But what's the point?

* * *

**Pixel Merrin, District Three Female.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty Second Victor.**

* * *

"Here you go, Pixel," Mercury says, handing me her infamous notepad. I smile softly, accepting it with gratitude. "Anything that you feel is important, you write it down. The proof is in the detail."

"Thank you so much," I blush, butterflies filling my chest with nerves. I haven't mentored in years; I've forgotten what the nerves and pain felt like. "I won't let you down," I promise her. "I'll try my hardest to bring someone home."

Micro opens the door, and we leave Mercury's home for the middle of District Three. Micro doesn't say anything; he doesn't have to, I suppose. I'm sure he'd much prefer Mercury to accompany him. The thing I've learned about Micro, after studying him from afar, is that he isn't great with leadership. He does mentoring so that Bolt can spend time with his adoptive children, and grandchildren. Mercury was his rock, and now she wants to slowly drop from the mundane ritual.

When I studied him, it was then that I realised he was dependent on an older, authoritative figure, kind of like Mercury. But there's no-one older than him.

I'd understand completely. It was Mercury, after all, who introduced the idea of psychology to me.

I won with just one kill... and that kill was my ally in his sleep. I didn't know what to do, I was terrified of dying, of not returning home. I was young, afraid of death and the unlimited possibilities behind it. My human instincts kicked in and I stabbed him through the heart later that day.

I never understood what drove me to it. Mercury said it was like a "fight or flight" scenario, and that every person is selfish in their desire to live. I willingly accepted the offer of psychology so I could understand what drove me to murder Galen Nimms from District Seven, only fifteen years old.

The stage soon comes into view, and Micro helps me up it, the dress being far too long for my smaller body. "Thank you Micro." I smile, but his returning one isn't as full as I hoped.

No, he wants Mercury or Bolt here. He doesn't want me. I try to not let myself be sad by that, but the built-up emotions make my chest hurt, and I end up only whimpering.

"Are you okay?" he asks as we take our seats, concern on his face. At least that's genuine.

"Nervous," I lie. "I don't want to mess this up... and I can't remember what it's like to lose someone."

"It stings," he smiles wryly. "But you learn, after a while, that it's better to feel that then nothing at all. Many, many Victors lose themselves into drugs or alcohol. They don't feel, they don't care," his smile turns distant as he looks away. "Sometimes I wonder if they have it easier than us."

A known alcoholic Victor, Maverick James of District Two, drunk himself to death. I remember reading the reports, and the memorial in the Capitol still plays on air sometimes. I don't think they have it any easier; it's more than likely harder for them instead, having to use a vice to cope with the simplest of tasks.

"Good morning District Three!" the escort bounces on stage, full of light. It's all false for the cameras, but I have to wave lightly, just to play along. "I would just like to start by saying that your newest item for the Capitol is spectacular! I wear it all the time!"

Micro smirks a little, and it even boosts my mood as well.

As the escort heads towards the first slip, I place my hands in my lap, and ruffle them into my dress. I grip the fabric like it's my anchor to reality and watch, with strained eyes, as the male slip is pulled from the bowl. "And your male tribute this year is... drum roll please... Cyril Faraday!"

Instantly, the boy is recognisable. He stands completely rigid, shocked, until a Peacekeeper uses his stun gun to show Cyril on his way. Instincts kick in and Cyril jogs for the stage, face completely composed. When he climbs up the steps, he stands on the outside, keeping himself away from the escort, who only seems to frown.

"Well then. I guess someone isn't that friendly despite a cute name," she pouts. "Oh well. I'm sure your female is much better. She is... drum roll please... Blair Taverly!"

The sea of girls part, revealing the tall, dark-haired girl. Her face falls, visibly hurt and saddened, before the whispering comes. Everyone around her seems to mention something, and Blair's face transforms into fury. With clenched fists visible, she stalks towards the stage, standing off on the other side. Neither Cyril nor Blair go near the escort. I guess they must just blame her.

"District Three... your wonderful tributes." she deadpans.

I steady my breathing; wonderful indeed.

But wonderful won't make a survivor. It's just not a common trait in a Victor.

* * *

**Gemini Hart, District Four Female.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty Third Victor.**

* * *

The waves roll in the distance, hurtling towards the beach. I step into the cool water and allow it to rush over me, sending an excited shiver through my body.

It's never been the same since I won. I've never been allowed a few moments of peace and quiet. If it isn't Odyessa barking her orders and insults at me, it's River and Creek arguing. Octavian is the only one who keeps quiet, and that's only because he's too enigmatic - and steam-rolled by Odyessa - to have outward opinions.

No, this is the place for the quiet. A special cove of sorts, hidden away from prying eyes. You have to cross the entire district but it's worth it, to see the sparkling sea and trees, knowing it's all yours and no-one else. It's a momentary escape from the bombardment of a Victor's life, with calls and meetings and meet and greets in the Capitol. Not to mention Odyessa's ridiculous plans for a Training Centre like that of District Two. It won't cement, but she won't let it go.

The pager buzzes once more, but I quickly pocket the device. Odyessa will only grow more angry, but I'll deal with her when I have too.

She's not allowed to steal this from me.

After a few more moments, I pry myself from the comfort blanket, leaving the sanctuary behind. I even make sure to hide the entrance with large banana leaves.

My thigh buzzes, another signal. I quickly read the name - Odyessa - before sighing. She just won't leave it alone. After this year, a vote has been decided on Career status and training. And if Odyessa doesn't get her way... well, I don't want to be around for the ultimate tantrum performed by an adult.

"You're late." Octavian says as I near the stage.

"No-one is here yet," I mumble, avoiding his gaze. He'll look straight through me and pinpoint what's wrong. He does that a lot. "Where's your sister?"

"Probably stealing food from children's' mouths," he smiles wickedly. "Or setting fire to the sea so she can be in control. You know, normal Odyessa-hobbies."

Not last year, she punched River. I still don't know why, but Octavian wasn't around to tame his wild sister. River's not only elderly now, but more frail. The Capitol did a good job fixing the nose though, and Odyessa's severe warning has made her steer clear of River completely.

Octavian places a hand on my shoulder. "Stop thinking about it. You won. Let it go."

I push his hand away gently, hating myself for being standoffish. "Two years isn't enough to cope, Octavian. Not when you didn't ask for it."

Without a reliable system like Districts One and Two, we vary on years for volunteers. Just so happens that my year didn't contain a psychopath. Odyessa loved that; I remember crying one night because of her brutal words. It's safe to say she isn't my favourite person, but I smile and act chirpy, just so I don't poke the bear with a stick like River does. I climb the steps, butterflies causing my stomach to somersault. I take each step carefully, staring out into the crowd. For the reaped children, this is horrible. I remember being so confident that I wouldn't have to worry. But without a name, my sentence was written in stone. The rejection and fear was awful to cope with.

I take my seat, giving a brief smile to Maximilian, the escort, when he makes his way to the microphone.

"District Four!" he calls, and the crowd erupts into a mixture of cheers and silence. I stare at the empty chair next to me, wondering why Odyessa would berate me for being here, and yet not turn up herself? Talk about a hypocrite. Still, I won't say anything. I'll just smile because that's what I'm best at; false happiness.

I remind myself daily that I did what I did because survival called for it.

"We shall start with your female," Maximilian heads on over to the female bowl, toying the slips. He gently removes one, peeling it back. "Your female tribute this year is... Dahlia M-"

There's no shouting, but when I look, a girl is taking hesitant steps towards her fate. I frown; she'll probably regret this decision, but there must be a solid reason. No-one - bar the psychopaths - willingly volunteer without reasons. She takes the steps slowly, and Maximilian hands her the microphone. "Cera Monet." she says sweetly, though her smile is forced.

"Splendid," Maximilian tears up. "I shall get you your knight in shining armor now!" he takes a moment to pick the slip, before ripping it open. "C'mon down Ec-"

"I volunteer!" a voice comes.

This time, it's a head of bleach blonde hair I see. I smile softly when he makes eye contact, features defined. He's rather handsome... though I even feel like I've seen him from somewhere before.

He takes the microphone from Maximilian, and keeps his lips pressed as he stares at a nearby camera. "Alvar Zale."

Maximilian wraps things up quickly, escorting the pair away. That's when I notice Odyessa off-stage, talking to her brother. He's angrily shouting in her face, but Odyessa keeps calm, cocky even. I hold my breath and avert my eyes.

Odyessa has done something; I don't know what, and I don't want to know. I just want to be back in my little cove, forgetting the world.

* * *

**Elesa Azel, District Five Female.**  
**One Hundred and Fourteenth Victor.**

* * *

Everywhere I look, I see them. The faces I've killed. The tributes I've let down.

It's hard to go by, day by day, knowing that you can't run from your demons. Ellery tried; she pushed herself away to the furthest corner of the Victor's Village, never letting Nebula nor Zeke through the door. She tried to escape, and they found her. It wasn't long before Ellery was willingly allowing Zeke in, not snarking straight back at Nebula, even acting more kinder towards me.

They break everyone, whether it's present or future.

I jump at the sound of a door slamming, brief memories of my poison house arena flickering through my mind. Ellery waltz in with a scowl, obviously angered. I shy away as she sits opposite me.

"Quit being so timid," Ellery says gently, though her words say different. "You're going outside. They'll eat you alive if you don't man up quickly," she looks around. "Is Nebula not here?"

"Zeke is in the Capitol, so I... I guess Nebula steered away from us."

Ellery scoffs. "More like Zeke told her to stay away, in case she either pisses me off or sends you into a spiral of depression."

The words don't sting anymore. I'm used to it. I guess it's my repentance for everything. A sliver of white hair falls in front of me, stark contrasted to the dark wood room. Make that two. Two scars that I can never clean, no matter how much I scrub, rub, cut or claw away. I'm filthy in every way possible.

An alarm goes. I jump again, ripping my nails across my hand. Blood pools to the edge but I bite away the pain, careful to not alert Ellery as she stands. She leaves the room briskly, and I follow quickly, just to put some effort into it. If Zeke was here, he'd make it better. He's the only person to understand me, having saved my life twice now.

Outside, the teenagers come, most with their faces drawn in. Some eye me and Ellery curiously as we take our seats, probably picking the better choice if they're unlucky enough to be reaped; the mental case, or the abusive "witch", I've heard her be dubbed.

"Good morning District Five!" Trevail, a sprightly short man, chirps as he makes his way towards the microphone. "I shall not waste any time because I can practically feel the tension in the air! You're all so nervous and excited for this, I can tell!"

I hear Ellery scoff beside me, but she doesn't say anything. Something tells me that Zeke has put her in her place also. He has that way with people, after spending most of his time looking after Cordelia before her suicide. I watch, with wide eyes, as the escort takes on the male slip. I feel sick. Not for me, but for them. I remember mine too well. I remember the emotions - I live them day in, day out now - and I can't help but want to mourn them already. It's not a name, it's a death sentence.

"Bennett Helling, you're our male!" he cheers.

Somewhere in the crowd, I know a kid must have died on the inside, their hope diminished into dust. My heart breaks even more as the small boy makes his way into the aisle, shaking violently. Each step Bennett takes towards us, it looks like he might be sick, or even just topple over.

"Shall we do your female already? I'm buzzing with nerves here!" Trevail laughs out into the deadly silence.

Bennett hits the stage as Trevail reveals the female slip. He stands for barely a second, before falling onto his knees. He stays there, teary-eyed, staring into the distance.

"Demara Chass, you're our female!"

A scream pierces the air. The girls in the oldest section begin to move, splitting apart for Demara to be seen. My heart thumps rhythmically, drowning out the other noises as Demara's open mouth continues to stretch further and further. Peacekeepers storm in, grabbing her by the arms and hauling her forward. Demara fights it the entire way. I guarantee that Ellery will admire that.

Demara is thrown on stage, scaring Bennett into falling backwards. She stands, pulling forth a locket that she stares at, her eyes burning with desperation. My heart goes out to her; she obviously misses someone dearly.

Trevail smiles. "District Five, your... unique tributes!"

Ellery doesn't say a word. She doesn't have to, really, just because her eyes speak volumes. Demara is already her tribute, that much is clear. She wants the clean conscience of knowing her older tribute can go further than the youngster.

It's fine. Another chip at my sanity won't spend me spiralling because I'm practically there already.

* * *

**Aston Moray, District Six Male.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty Ninth Victor.**

* * *

"I don't care what you think." I answer.

Constance smirks. "It's not the point of caring, it's just the point of doing."

I narrow my eyes as I take my seat next to her. "I'm not caring and I'm not doing it," I fight back, not letting her just walk all over me. "I didnt kill and survive, just to be bossed around by you all the time."

That's her worst habit. That, and her personality, and attitude... just basically all of Constance is worse, I suppose. She's bitter and deluded, believing she's something special. She probably doesn't, but boy, she does love to boss Lorcan and I around. Lorcan allows it, but I won't. As I mentioned, I didn't go through all of that to basically live with an Outer-Career for the rest of existence in District Six.

"You will do as I say."

"If you'd be so kindly, I'm trying to listen to the wind and you're ruining it for me." I counter, putting my hand up to block her view of my face.

Constance scoffs. "So childish."

"So patronizing," I counter again, letting the fury control my words carefully. "We are not getting Lorcan a therapist. End of discussion."

"You obviously don't see his problem, but that's okay, because you're new and self-centred at the moment," she adjusts her seat, facing more towards me. "I've known him for longer than you. I know when he's slipping up in his medication, and he is. That brief meltdown around fifteen years ago did not help it at all. Oh, I'm sorry, you were a nobody back then and don't remember. My apologies."

Lorcan did have a meltdown. He didn't tell anyone, mind you. Constance knew because he was getting worse and worse, but I've only ever known him like this. I guess she's right - but by getting a therapist, she means getting him locked up, sent away to the Capitol, anywhere so that she doesn't have to deal with him.

It's not right. Constance is not right.

"I will make this clear, Constance," I turn as well, so that our burning eyes meet in a brazen glory. "As long as I'm around, you will not section Lorcan. He needs help. Not professional, just us. It'll break him further to know that you turned your back on him."

"Fine. Here you go," she pulls some paperwork from her bag, and my heart thumps through nerves. "This is his medical record. You want to help him? He's your problem then. There's the list of medicines he needs to take and what times, the amount of therapy he needs daily, the hourly check-ups," she smiles cunningly. "I hope you can handle it, Aston."

The news throw me through a loop, but I refuse to allow her that satisfaction. I take them with force and smile. "And when he's better, I'll make sure to tell him that you didn't bother to help once."

"That's all I ask." she smiles.

I don't even realise the escort is on stage until she heads towards the male bowl. I hold my breath, and Constance crosses her arms nonchalantly. I'm sure this was her plan all along. She's dastardly, after all.

"Your male tribute is Oker Horvath!"

Slowly, the male peels himself from the crowd, face stunned by whatever happened. He hesitantly makes his way towards the stage and up the steps, standing right next to the microphone. "I'm Oker... but you know, I was pretty happy over there with my friends. Can't we do a recount?" he laughs nervously, and it's clear that he's just scared and hiding it. I'm sure Constance will have written him off from that comment, but she's a witch anyway.

Oker steps back, and the escort approaches with the female name. "Your female tribute is Fail? Fay-le... Faele Resquin!"

Again, the females split, and the short-haired girl is easy to pinpoint. Her head turns slowly, scanning the areas, as if she's trying to find an escape route. Then a nearby Peacekeeper cracks his stun gun and she screams, sluggishly running towards the stage, fear evident in her eyes. I climb out of my chair and head to the end of the stage. She looks up at me, still scared, but I smile. "Lemme help you up," I offer, holding out my hand. "I'm Aston, your mentor."

She melts a little, fear escaping for a minute. "Thank you."

I swallow thickly, realising the situation. "I'll do whatever I can for you."

Truth is, I will. And I try to ignore Oker completely in the hopes that it makes it easier to focus on Faele.

* * *

**Opax Herrera, District Seven Male.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty Fourth Victor.**

* * *

"Take care, my sweetheart." I say one last time, Delphine's eyes casting an eerie glow as I close the door.

It's always been the same since she won. She does nothing but stare, forever mute. It's been years and I've barely heard her speak a word without being forced. Yet, I can't push away the burden deep inside of me. Maple says I'm being ridiculous, and Spruce obviously agrees with her, but they wouldn't understand. The first person I ever save... and she's like this, traumatized.

Her arena was a cavern, complete with crystals and dripping water. No-one expected it to begin to flood. But, it was even more of a shock when the crystals turned out to be Morphling, radiating in the air. It drove the tributes mad. Many started to react irrationally, murdering their allies and throwing themselves into death.

Delphine won by running, wild and feral, into each tribute she could get her hands on.

By the end of the week, Delphine was sat in a shallow puddle of water, drenched head to toe in blood from her six victims, ranging in districts and age.

I fell in love with a girl who couldn't be saved, no matter how it broke my heart. I matured myself for her. I grew up, worked harder, made it my mission to be someone that Delphine could be proud to call her husband. And then this happened, and she's a mere soul just wandering around, forever quiet, forever scarred.

"How is she?" Maple asks when I mount the stage.

"How do you think?" I reply more harshly than normal. I sigh, looking away. "I'm sorry. It's just... the Capitol doctors said that it's all psychological. But I can't fix her psyche, Maple..."

"No-one is asking you too," she answers. "No-one is expecting you to leave your life on hold for her."

Bitterness floods my tongue, and I can't kill the words before they leave my lips. "It's okay for you though, right? You have Spruce, and he isn't damaged goods. Delphine is all I have with Willow being dead."

Maple's face contorts to anger. "Watch your tone with me."

But I can't control it. "Why should I? You don't even bother to come and see her or anything. You tell me to leave her alone, but without me, she'd have no-one. You and Spruce are too wrapped up in yourselves that you don't see her struggling!"

In a flash, Maple's hand whips across my cheek, and my head recoils from the strength. I hear Maple's breath, shallow and angry, but I can't find myself to care for it. Before, I looked up to them both. But they way they treat Delphine because she's "ill" is disgusting. My own role models are phonies. When the escort walks onto stage, Maple turns around and looks away, probably unable to face the reality that I'm right, and she's wrong.

"Shall I start with the ladies?" the escort toys with the crowd, setting the kids on edge. No-one answers, but no-one ever does. She simply skips across the stage towards the glass bowl, and picks the first slip her grubby hands touch. "Without further ado... your female representative this year is... North Merrean!"

The crowd parts, and a small girl is left in the middle. In a few seconds, her face flashes from anger to sadness, sickness to acceptance, as she slowly walks up towards her doom.

When North touches the stage, I smile softly, just for a little bit of ease. She doesn't respond the favour, but it's understandable.

"And now your male!" the escort chants, and moves to the next. The slip is in her hands and ripped open in seconds. I glance at Maple for a second, just to find a seething reaction, before looking back a little satisfied. "August Dreygon, come on down!"

The Dreygon family are pretty well known around District Seven, so I'm not that surprised to see August, face bleached white and standing in obvious shock. It takes a few moments to reach the aisle, and when he does, he's wasted too much time. A Peacekeeper stomps down the aisle and cuffs him by the elbow, dragging him forward. August doesn't fight back... until it dawns on him, in which I smile as he pushes the Peacekeeper off of him, and walks the rest of the way himself with a brooding expression.

When he gets on the stage, he smiles warmly at North, who rejects that comfort also.

"I'll let you decide," I whisper. "It tends to be all about you anyway." I add, just to rub salt in the wound.

Maple turns around, still furious. "I'll let this slide because you're angry, but I swear Opax, you better quit whilst you're ahead."

The anger washes over my system. It smothers me, the faint remembrance of Delphine when she went crazy, and I smile bitterly. "I've never been one to quit. On this, or on Delphine."

* * *

**Tweed Rayon, District Eight Male.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty Seventh Victor.**

* * *

Pippin keeps at Darek's side, even as we near the stage. It's understandable for him to rely heavily on Darek. I mean, that's the point, isn't it? To have someone you trust so badly that you need them every second of the day? Without Darek, Pippin is just a shell. Darek breathes life into him that I never knew Pippin had.

That's why I'm not looking forward to the Capitol. Without Darek, Pippin won't be much help. I'll have to manage two tributes, and I can't... I can't cope with the pressure...

"Just do your best," Darek says one last time. "Whatever you do, do what you can. They need you in there. Don't let them down."

"Got it, boss." I smile, trying to reassure Pippin that it'll be okay; I'm here for him as much as Darek is, even if you'd think a decade or so might've calmed Pippin down. I guess the constant interrogations and questions have brought him to the edge. I mean, just last year, Pippin was whisked away for a month to the Capitol on unknown circumstances. Darek flipped his shit when Chiffon told him.

Darek gives Pippin one last brief hug, before heading back to Victor's Village. Instantly, I can sense the loss in Pippin's personality.

"It'll be okay, Pip," I encourage, walking up the steps to the stage with him. "I'll do as much as I can to help you along."

He smiles sadly. "Thank you, Tweed. But I don't know how long I'll even..." he drifts off, growing quiet. He doesn't have to finish the words for me to understand, though, a Peacekeeper nearby, eyes attempting to burn a hole through Pippin's head.

They can't keep doing this to him. It's putting too much strain on everyone around him. Darek does nothing but be with Pippin, and the many street children that spend time in Darek's backyard. Velvet's OCD has reached breaking point, and Chiffon has put her under house arrest, though Velvet isn't making much fuss.

And then there's me. I haven't been able to mourn, or grieve, or whatever you're suppose to do because I've been roped into rebellion accusations, just because I speak to Pippin every now and then. I don't blame him, but there's never been a suitable time to just turn around and say "look, I like you all, but I'm still fucked up from whatever happened to me and every year, I push it deeper down so like, can you help me or not?"

I fall down into my seat, exhausted. Pippin shrinks in his seat, his eyes flickering every now and then back to the Peacekeeper on watch.

"Ignore him," I suggest. "He's just being a total asshole for no reason."

But the escort, Bartholomew, says it for me. "Excuse me," he says, catching the Peacekeeper's attention. "I have a significant other, so if you could stop leering, I'd be appreciative." the Peacekeeper turns bright red and looks away. Bart turns around, flashes a wink, and then proceeds towards the microphone, his hand clasped around a small, white slip. "I'll start with your female... Clio Dimity."

"No!" a shrill cry pierces the air.

Kids back away, revealing the girl, her dark hair shrouded half the fear in her eyes. She starts to panic, snapping her head around, movements jerky and robotic. Then, she runs. I lean up in my seat to see Clio bursting through the pens, managing to make it to another girl just in time for their fingers to touch... before a Peacekeeper cruelly steals Clio away. She screams and thrashes in his grip, but it's pretty useless. I tried that; it doesn't work.

Bartholomew frowns, whispering something to a colleague as Clio is literally thrown on stage. She still looks around with eyes as wide as saucers as Bart takes to the microphone with the male slip.

"And your male... Satchel Taupe."

The crowd moves. Pippin shifts in his seat, trying to blend in with the plastic as Satchel is revealed. His eyes widen for a moment and then, all of a sudden, he throws himself to the floor. Everyone gasps, a few kids even giggling. When the same Peacekeeper that threw Clio on stage reaches him, Satchel refuses to move, playing dead. I hold back a laugh and admiration as the Peacekeeper is forced to carry an unconscious Satchel to the stage, dropping him on the stage like he did with Clio. Yet, he still doesn't wake up.

"Is he dead?" Pippin whispers, voice wavering.

"He's pretending," I offer. "See," I point to Satchel, whose eye is opening, staring aimlessly at the floor. "He's probably scared. Or, you know, lazy."

Taking advantage of Satchel's shenanigans, Clio tries to make a run for it again, sprinting past me and Pippin. The tired Peacekeeper makes chase and ends up dragging her back to the stage, where Satchel still lies on the floor.

The scene should be hilarious, like a comical act. But I feel dread set in my heart. They're both so desperate... I'm sure they both want to live. If I mentor both, I won't be able to help properly... I look to Pippin, mentally willing him to become stronger, just for this year.

I can try my hardest... but at the end of the day, the likelihood is that both will die. And even if one comes home, the other death will linger in the air forever.

* * *

**Topher Starling, District Nine Male.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty First Victor.**

* * *

The crowd falls quiet as Nicolet leaves the Justice Building, her naturally curly hair caught by the soft breeze. I smirk, watching my mentor take her seat next to me.

"You seem to make little children cry, you know." I tease, but Nicolet doesn't look pleased.

"They have better reasons than me. I'm probably going to save them, unlike you and your attitude," she flashes a brief, sarcastic smile, before turning back. "Besides, I heard rumours that the arena will be extremely tough this year."

I smirk again, keeping my eyes locked on the rolling hills in the distance. "Did your connection tell you that?"

Nicolet smirks from the corner of my eye, and the sudden tension filters away. "Yes," she laughs lightly. "He better after all I put up with. He's not easy company."

After the recent years, Nicolet spends more and more of her time away in the Capitol. It's why people fear her, I guess. Many assume that Nicolet works for the Capitol, watching over us like a stronger form of Peacekeeper. Some assume she's a prostitute. But this is Nicolet we're talking about, and she'd never let anyone walk over her. No, she heads to the Capitol to spend time with a very, very important figure within the community, Mr X she calls him.

She gives her time to him, and he gives her useful information in securing Victors and alliances in the future.

It's safe to say that, if a rebellion was to happen, Nicolet would be a leading soldier. I would be behind her, but she'd only call me a pervert.

The one thing you can't break is the trust between mentor and tribute. If that tribute becomes a Victor, it's basically a secure line to eternal gratitude. They saved you; respect them for all it's worth. And I do respect Nicolet in the highest of manners, but I also know when to put my foot down. In the arena, she wanted me to leave my ailing ally behind, because the ripples in the water meant something dangerous.

I didn't listen. In a matter of seconds - and not following her orders - my ally was ripped to shreds by the snake, and my arm was cut open, tendons and veins pulled apart like string as I desperately tried to help.

I never questioned her again. I still don't now. I'm loyal, faithful, and she calls me her little lost puppy which I only smile at.

Rosella heads out onto stage, grimacing the entire time. She's an elderly escort, definitely an eyesore, but she's always here. Nicolet must've pulled strings considering the hatred between her and the previous one. It was atomic, according to Remy. "District Nine," she forces a fake smile. "I have the lady in my hand. Shall we find out?" she pulls open the slip, and hums. "Alyssum Harper."

The girl stands rigid as everyone finds her. Shock takes over every fibre of her body, but she doesn't react. It takes the girl behind her to shove her forward to get her moving properly, and even then Alyssum seems in another world, detached and confused.

Rosella moves fast for the male slip. She almost shoves Alyssum out the way, causing Nicolet to laugh bitterly at the comical side.

"Your gentleman this year is Keran Farley." Rosella states.

I know of the boy personally - well his name, not his person - so it shocks me a little. I've never known someone who was reaped. It's always been total strangers. I clench my fists, feeling uncomfortable as Keran moves obediently towards us, his dark eyes flickering in hatred. Nicolet nods approvingly from my side as he stands rather awkwardly alongside Alyssum.

I feel bad for asking, but I do anyone. "Who do you want? I feel like having Keran as mine." I swallow, feeling as if millions of parasites are crawling over my skin.

"Feel free to him," she smiles briefly once more. "It's rather unlikely one will survive anyway, so don't get too attached."

I smile sadly. "Remy could've said the same thing to you about me."

"If he did, I would've punched him," she scoffs. "But I know better than him and Bailey, and I hope you know better than me."

* * *

**Oxford Altai, District Ten Male.**  
**One Hundred and Twenty First Victor.**

* * *

I keep the journal tucked under my arm, scared it might slip away.

"There's no breeze today, Oxford," Macaulay mentions again, a smile on his face. "You should think about investing in a bag."

"It's easier to access this way." I smile coyly, hoping to hide the truth from him.

Macaulay lightly laughs it away, but he doesn't see the full truth behind it. He doesn't know that... that it's going again, my... memory. We both thought I was getting better, and after all these years, I had hopes that I might remember everything once more. But it's slipping again. It took me a while to remember the name of that colour, and then a meal, and before I knew it, I had Serena and Sunny's names mixed up once more.

I can't tell him. He's only really let me have more independence recently, rather than treating me like an injured animal all the time. If he knew... everything would be loss to me. I study three times as hard to remember the simpler things in order to cover my tracks.

As Serena - or Sunny, I can't remember - takes her seat on the stage, Macaulay waves goodbye and heads back to the house. I let myself sigh heavily, and fall into my own seat.

"He'll find out eventually, you know," Sunny - or it could be Serena - says. I turn to face the darkened locks and bright eyes, feeling the sickness rise in my chest. "He's not an idiot. Serena didn't mentor an idiot. Sooner or later, he'll learn of your memory loss returning."

Oh, it's Sunny. I should've guessed by the attitude. I swallow thickly, and nod. "I don't want to worry him."

"Macaulay is stronger than he looks, and you should know this better than anyone. He killed his own cousin to win. He's battled depression and alcoholism, and is still standing," she scoffs. "Give him some credit, Ox."

She's right. But that's another reason why I won't tell him... he's been through so much, overcome so many obstacles that he's used to help teach me, and I... I can't drag him down. I can't be a burden to him. I keep quiet after that and Sunny does the same, simply watching the children fill up. One by one, the potential reaped are placed in their pens, their faces twisted in nerves and... and that word, the one where you're scared... I clench my wrists angrily, willing away the emotions building in my throat.

The moment the pens are full, the escort gets to work. He already has one of the slips in his hand, a piece of paper that signs away a life... I have many in my journal. I guess I can relate.

"I'll start with your male tribute this year, which is Orion Tallen." he says coldly, not even looking up past the golden dreadlocks.

The boy is easily found, being closer to the front than others. Rather than anger or... sadness, though, I see a shy smile as he slowly parts through the other boys. Sunny jabs her wavering finger into my side, so I turn to see her lips are curled into a smile. "He looks happy. He's clearly deluded. You like the tough ones, so do you want him?"

I nod. She's right; the challenge is better for my brain.

Sunny smirks, looking back at the escort. The next death slip is in his hands, and he opens it painstakingly slow. "Your female tribute this year is Serpine Dextra."

Like with Oreo, I place the name away in my brain, just for future reference. Sunny's finger suddenly jerks out, and when I follow the gaze, I notice the heavy-haired girl standing in the middle of the aisle. She takes her steps carefully, but she doesn't look too angry or annoyed. Her face is plain, unreadable. Unlike Oreo who stands on the stage with cheerful glee, Serpent seems disinterested in everything around her.

"I think I might have it wrong," Sunny shrugs as Serpent climbs onto the stage, next to a bouncing Oreo. "You can have her, if you want. I'm getting tired of dealing with brats."

I swallow thickly, remembering my wish; my wish to be better, to... collect my memory back wholly. "It's okay. I'll keep with the boy, thank you."

I need to do it. For Macaulay's sake, for my own, for everyone who I've let down because I can't remember the important details.

For them, I'd look after both tributes, just to encourage my brain to work harder than ever.

And hopefully save a life in the process.

* * *

**Gypsy Morquin, District Eleven Female.**  
**One Hundred and Thirty Second Victor.**

* * *

I blink a few times as Kane makes his way onto the stage, smiling brightly with those white teeth of his. I'm not looking forward to this. Not with him, not this situation. It all spells trouble in my opinion, but of course, Mako would test me at the most ridiculous of times. "Gypsy." Kane grins.

"Kane," I answer shortly, trying not to sound mean or anything. "How are you?"

"Fine," he cocks an eyebrow, watching me carefully as he falls into my seat. "No mood swing this morning?"

I bite down on my bottom lip. "I'm trying to be a good girl today, if you couldn't tell," I turn to face him. "Please don't ruin this."

He raises his hands in mock defence. "Wouldn't dream of it." he laughs, and that only makes me scowl.

"I'm serious," I warn him. "Mako wants me to do well, and I will. It... it takes time, patience and good company to not send me over the edge. I need good influences to keep me on the straight and narrow, not into fields of anger." I quote my elder word to word.

Kane scoffs. "Sounds like the old man wants to make you a better person. I don't see why. I rather like fiery Gypsy, the girl not afraid to lash out."

My smile twitches, and I grit my teeth. "I'm to fight with words, not my fists." I force out.

The escort parades herself on stage, a name tag stitched into her wig. I hide my snigger, but Kane laughs obnoxiously loud, catching the woman's attention. She turns and scowls, obviously not impressed. Not being funny, but maybe Mako should try to tame Kane's obnoxious attitude before he tries to deal with unfathomable anger held towards the Capitol, the Hunger Games, the people who tried to murder me and forced me to kill other teenagers.

I don't realise I'm shaking with anger until Kane laughs, jabbing my knee. "Calm down. Don't stress over your imagination. It's not real."

"Everything is real." I smile, hoping it hides the fire.

Kane winks, turning to the escort as she cautiously taps the microphone a few times. "Hello," she introduces herself, not that anyone cares. "My day is Daladae, and if you can't pronounce it, call me Dala. I'm here as your escort," she poses, holding the microphone between her fingers. "And I'll start with the male this time."

No-one honestly cares. A group of older boys even laugh, and it's evident they're mocking the escort. I cross my arms with a smirk, looking down at my lap as she takes the slip to the middle. "Here we go." Kane says lowly, before the erratic static takes over.

"Deacon Fleet," she says sharply. "Deacon Fleet."

The name cuts the obnoxious boys from their laughter, and the middle one is left abandoned. Oh, the irony behind it all. He instantly goes pale as he heads towards us. Halfway, his smile returns, and he broods as he mounts the steps. Kane stares harder, before laughing. "I guess it's not so funny after all."

I can't help but roll my eyes at his hypocrisy, even though it makes me want to tear his eyes out. I push the burning feelings into my stomach as the escort returns with the female slip.

"Leona Verbena," she smiles. "Leona Verbena, sweetheart, come here."

There's no big cheer or boo, not even a simple whisper. Everyone falls silent as the frail girl removes herself from the pens, lips pulled down in a frown. She looks like every other child plucked from their prime, thrown into a deadly game of cat and mouse. You can't help but pity her. Leona climbs the steps, and the frown turns into a sad smile of acceptance.

"Pick your tribute." Kane cuts the silence, making me want to punch him.

I hold back the anger, my stomach full of the trivial sickness and hatred. Once more, innocence will be shattered. "I'd rather not." I respond.

* * *

**Crispin Ricknor, District Twelve Male.**  
**One Hundred and Fourth Victor.**

* * *

Another year of loneliness.

Another year of hungry children, a starving district, abandoned and forgotten as being weaker than the rest.

Another year of my own mind as my company.

It's always the same. I'm surprised I've held up so well on my own. They say that having no friends is bad for your health, yet I'm walking and talking and running as fast as I can, no matter how much I want to sit back, curl into a ball, and wish away the pressure that falls heavily on me every year.

_Can Crispin bring home a Victor?_

_Can Crispin even do anything worthy, considering he was only lucky?_

_If Peeta was here, we'd have hope. Crispin is nothing in comparison to him._

It's not the words that bother me, but their meaning. Luck brought me home, nothing else, and Peeta was better at this than I. I've done nothing but allow two children every year to die, and as much as I help, I feel powerless and weak in the eyes of the Capitol.

Every night I wait for the silent assassin to take me away, stirring some gossip and talk within the district that nobody cares about.

The escort - brand spanking new - heads out into the middle of the stage, looking as perky and ready as ever. He doesn't even seem that fazed by the hollow cheeks and swollen bellies around him. If he stays, he'll learn to hate the sight. He has everything whilst they have less than nothing, if it was possible.

I let the bitterness slide away as the escort takes the female slip, and moves over to the microphone. "Afternoon miners!" he cheers, fist pumping the air. "I hope you are all super duper excited like me! I can contain my excitement. If it was allowed, I'd dance right here, right now!"

He's met with silence. I smile at that, a silent stand against the hand that barely feeds us.

"Okay..." he rolls his eyes, plucking open the slip in a dramatic snap. "Your female tribute this year for the Hunger Games is none other than the lovely, charming, Beatrix Reiser!"

People scowl at his words, even after the name is called. Everyone already hates him, and not just because he's from the Capitol. They hate him for making a show and dance about it. It's understandable - and previously, I would've pitied the poor man - but now, I hold onto the hatred in the hopes that it'll bring me a Victor eventually.

I notice the straggly haired blonde heading towards us, her face pale, sweat beading on the end of her nose. She tries to remain calm, but it's clear that she'll lose the plot in a second or two. When she mounts the stage, she politely smiles at the failing escort, before taking her place. My heart goes out to the poor thing.

"And we have your male!" the escort cheers. "Your male tribute this year for the Hunger Games is none other than the valiant, handsome Callum Reeves!"

The next kid repeats Beatrix's problems. He shakily heads towards the stage, face pale. He could be sick, or he could be seriously malnourished. There's never a way to tell with District Twelve citizens anymore. Even the merchant class are looking more and more ill.

Callum takes the spot next to Beatrix, eyeing her curiously. Neither seem sure of what to do, but both act polite as the escort wraps up his "tuneful" acceptance speech, and how proud he is to monitor such a wonderful, discredited district.

_Can Crispin bring home a Victor?_

_Can Crispin do anything worthy?_

I want to with all my might. But it's not up to me - it's up to them. If they can do it, so can I.

I won't give up on them.

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ sinkorswim hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Which tribute stood out to you?_**

**_Which mentor stood out to you?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**That makes my ninth reaping. Wow, it's still painful to get through.**

**Anywho. I don't bother too much with tributes here, just because the reactions/emotions are too repetitive. I like a more vocal point of view, and my mentors provide that look. I'm not entirely how I feel about this chapter, but eh, reapings and me have always had a problematic relationship.**

**So yeah. We hit the Capitol next chapter! Who wants to guess on early alliances, or plots?**


	4. Icarus

**Icarus by Bastille.**

* * *

**Icarus.**

_Living beyond your years. Acting out all their fears._

* * *

**Alyssum Harper, District Nine Female.**

* * *

"You are simply adorable. I could eat you up!" the stylist coos, looking over me like I'm sort sort of delicacy.

I smile politely, taking the seat she offers me. I'd rather she didn't treat me like an object, but I suppose that Capitol people are too materialistic to even see tributes as, well, humans too. If only they'd realise what we go through, and then maybe they'd learn to be nicer, rather than selfish. Then again, I'm probably too quick to judge. Maybe this stylist is nicer than I imagine.

"You have so many split ends," she frowns. Nope, I don't like her, the vain cow. "Did you not care for your hair properly back in District Nine?"

I can't help but scowl, steering my head away from her. "I was too busy studying and trying to survive to care about split ends."

"There is always a moment to care for your looks, Alys."

I roll my eyes. "Can you call me Alyssum please?" I ask nicely, even though I want to hiss at her. That nickname isn't for just anyone to use. You have to earn it, and she hasn't. It reminds me too much of Briony and it stings, the wound still fresh.

The stylist - whose name still escapes me - frowns through the mirror. "But Alys is so much prettier."

"You're taking my identity away as it is," I roll my eyes, tired of her already. "You can't have my name too. Please, it's not Alys, it's Alyssum."

She grumbles under her breath, but doesn't say a word. Good. I'd rather not get into a fight with someone I will barely learn about, before I'm thrown into hot waters. I'm sure I have more to worry about then her feelings too. I swallow thickly, feeling slightly guilty. "What's your name?" I ask.

"Dolores," she mumbles, grabbing a jar of peroxide from the side. My eyes widen, and she cocks her head, unaware. "What's wrong?"

"You are not bleaching my hair." I stand my ground.

She blinks a few times. "How... how did you know this was peroxide?"

Of course she'd assume me to be brain dead, just because I'm a lower class. That's just pretentious of her. "I told you, I study," I smile briefly. "My parents run an apothecary... you know, the place full of herbs and medicines and stuff. It's commonplace in District Nine, with the grain and everything..." Dolores just blinks, like my words aren't real. "I'm a herbalist. I no dumb." I mock lightly, ending it with a smirk.

Dolores scoffs. "You could've just said."

"I did. You obviously didn't know what an apothecary is. But that doesn't change a thing. You are not dying my hair with bleach. I like my natural colour," I frown, pulling the loose strands from her grasp. "Please... just hurry up, Dolores."

Dolores smirks, puts the bottle down, and puts her hands on her hips. "Ask nicely... Alys."

I grind my teeth together, staring hard at the reflection. "Please." I answer shortly.

She claps like the brainless woman I believe she is, pulling my hair back into her paws. "I promise to make you look and feel like a princess."

They're overrated. But I'll allow Dolores the ability to believe that. I'd rather go into the arena with hardly any burdens, so I can focus solely on beating the Careers and the brutes with my intellect. And I already know that shouldn't be a problem.

* * *

**Sable Kordel, District Two Male.**

* * *

I can't help but smile each time I stare at my costume. Neela, my stylist, told me that I'm suppose to look like a wounded soldier with my face smeared with red paint and dirt, and my costume torn at the edges. I think I look demonic, but that's even more perfect.

"The blood looks real," I hum, lightly grazing over the red paint. "It'd be even better if we got to use real blood! It'd be tons more authentic!"

Neela smiles. "You're a strange one. Now, come on. Jezabel will be outside waiting for you already. The crowd awaits you!"

I beam from ear to ear as Neela leads me out of the room. The dark hallway flickers with light, and the deafening cheer grows bit by bit as I near the Remake Centre. This was never a dream come true, but I guess it's nice. It's not even the crowd that makes me happy. It's the energy, the atmosphere. It burns through my veins; I've never been this excited before!

The doors fly open, and the picture comes to life.

Jezabel quickly approaches from the chariot, a bright, white smile on her face. "There's my favourite district partner!" she beams, shoving her arms around me.

I don't particularly care for Jezabel, but she's fine. Not gruesome enough for us to get on, mind you. She's too sugary sweet, even though she masks it well. I can see right through her. Oh well, might as well entertain her for a while. "Hi Jezabel." I reply sweetly.

Jezabel pulls back. "Oh, I can't wait to get this show on the road. Now, Cadmus told me that we should raise our hands together. It's an okay idea, but I think the more enthusiasm, the better."

My fingers move on their own, running over her cheek. Jezabel frowns, staring harder. "You have blood on your face. It looks so real," I hum. "It's like I can imagine you bleeding right now... it's so beautiful."

"Can someone tell Terror Toddler and his toy to get onto the chariot, please," Saffron's voice enters, standing at the side. "We're on a schedule."

Jezabel smiles, pulling my hand from her face, before jumping up onto the chariot. I quickly follow, careful not to ruin the costume. It's too perfect to be damaged.

Around us, the others begin to move. I notice Camillo Creed firstly, the large angel wings on his back being any indication. He's the devil, and I'm the angel. War must be waged between us... nah, I'm kidding. I'm sure he's a nice boy. I wonder if he likes macabre stuff too? He's be more than nice then. We might even become friends before a guillotine or something cuts him in half.

I'd like that.

"The Career alliance this year," Jezabel begins, as the crowd grows louder and louder behind the doors. I beam once more, jumping up and down lightly. I push the curls from my eyes, and turn to face Jezabel. "As I was saying," she continues. "I want to become leader. I don't think Cera or Luxe are material, and I don't trust Camillo," she pauses, smiling. "Will you help me become leader?"

I frown, saddened by that. "I think they'll be really cool," I pout. "You haven't even gave them a chance."

Her eyes narrow. "You can't trust everyone, Sable."

Truth is, I don't. But I like to meet everyone before I make that judgement. It's just cruel to do so beforehand. "Then the same could be said about you," I counter, still smiling, cocking my head at the noises. "Hear that? I think they're waiting for us. I'm so pumped I can't wait!"

"We're friends, Sable," Jezabel whispers. "I'd never betray you."

I should scoff, but I don't. That's rude. Instead, I ignore her, keeping my eyes focused on the large doors. If she betrays me, I'll just kill her. I wouldn't even think twice. I'd even make it painful as punishment.

"Let the fun begin!" I fist pump the air, just as the doors open, and the noise and light comes in full blast.

* * *

**Satchel Taupe, District Eight Male.**

* * *

I'm a quilt.

Yeah, no, basically, no matter what they lied to me, I'm a piece of bed linen. Same as Clio, though her costume hugs the right places, defining her femininity. My stylist moaned that my body wasn't "full" enough to make it better, so they left me with inches of room to move around in. It's better than nothing, particularly after hearing Clio's rant on how women shouldn't be defined by curves or something.

The first chariot rolls forward. The butterflies in my stomach begin once more, and I grip the railing in front of me. Clio laughs lightly, but it's forced.

"So, Satchel," she begins. "Are you going to tell me why you played dead?" she laughs again, but it's more breezy. Surprisingly, it puts me more at ease.

"Practise," I joke. "I... I don't have a good reason. But the same could be said about your attempts at running away. It was a pretty sad attempt."

Clio nods, a tight smile on her face. "Guess our actions were in vain."

"Oh, I don't know. Tweed mention that the crowd loved our reactions. A flood of money, he said. They apparently love it when their tributes are scared out of their minds." I answer, which is partially true. Tweed mentioned that the result was money for someone, but he pointed out it was for someone, not the pair of us. I won't let Clio know that though. I mean, I might shoot my mouth off, but I know when not to hurt someone's feelings.

District Six moves now, their silver suits contrasting with the blackness of their headpieces. They kinda like look trains.

Clio flexes her fingers, still smiling. She only ever smiles. "That's good to know," she breathes. "I'd like to think that someone got a kick out of our desperation."

The words sting more than they should. She's right; we were so desperate, and they just probably laughed at us. I'm used to being mocked for many things - and Clio's hinted at similar results after a talk with Tweed - but it still hurts to know that they don't see scared children when it happens.

District Seven moves. The girl is a little jumpy, almost falling out of the chariot. A few scattered orange leaves fall from the costume, and I hear one of the Capitol stylists shriek in terror, chasing after her even though it's too late. Clio laughs at that, but again, I feel like she's being too positive. Maybe it's a mask.

Our chariot is next, and that's when Clio slides her hand in mine. "I doubt we'll be allies," she starts with, and I let out a baited breath. I didn't want to be her ally anyway, but I didn't want to offend her. I'm thinking more carefully when I'm around Clio because she's too nice to be hurt. "But I want you to know that we're kinda friends? We're in this together quite literally, so don't view me as the enemy."

It's hard not to. One of us - more than likely the both of us - will die. Everyone is dangerous, an enemy with knife.

The horses pull us into the blinding light, surrounding us from every side. I wince, before a bombardment of cheers and applause reaches my ears. Clio grips harder into my hand as the spots begin to fade from my vision, revealing the rows and rows of Capitol citizens, all coming out to see us. It takes my breath away. I try to smile, but it's forced, hatred for a place that has only ever been against us. After a while, Clio points excitedly at a banner, and I frown.

"What's it say?" I shout over the noise, the letters a blur. I can't make it away no matter how hard I try.

"It says your name," she beams, forever smiling. "Can't you tell? It says _'Satchel Taupe, Our Possum!'_"

"Possum?" I've never heard of that before. What is it?

She turns to face me, looking happy. "It's that animal that plays dead, Satch," she laughs. "You know, because of your antics. The crowd love you for it! You're their possum!"

Should I feel offended? I can't help but smile, though, at the name and banner. Someone out there likes me. Like, really likes me enough to make a banner for me. It's sweet of them, even if they are the Capitol. So I let my smile do the talking, pushing away my feelings and the many different words I want to shout out. Unlike Clio's determination, my words have only ever got me in trouble.

I have to be more wary. I need to win, you know, and that means I can't be too reckless.

It'll be hard; but so will surviving against everyone older than me.

* * *

**Orion Tallen, District Ten Male.**

* * *

Serpine scowls as I bounce up and down, making sure that every single person in the audience can see me. "I'm here!" I scream, waving my arms around.

This is so weird but wonderful. The eventual dying part isn't so great, and my odds are pretty foul, but for now, I can bathe in things I've never dreamed of before. A crowd that already knows my name. A spotlight that'll follow me around, watching whatever I do, so interested, so keen to learn more about the mysterious Orion Tallen. I'm so pumped for the interviews mainly!

"You're being extremely childish." I hear Serpine comment, looking away.

"You're being a spoil sport," I argue, scowling just like she does. "Lighten up. No-one wants to sponsor a sourpuss."

She doesn't react, which is good, because Serpine is kinda terrifying at the end of the day. I mean, she doesn't look so scary, but I've heard about her, about how cold she is towards basically everyone. Some say she's evil, but I've yet to see that myself. I won't judge; I mean, Serpine could be a hooker and I'd be fine with being her friend, as long as she didn't touch me or infect me or whatever.

The chariots begin to slow down. As District Nine veers off to the left, our chariot heads right, placing us between Districts Eight and Twelve.

My eyes wander to the rest of them, and their outfits mainly. I don't them to be better dressed than me, but I have nothing to worry about. District Eight is covered in bed linen of different patterns and colours, and frankly, neither look too appealing. People will forget them easily, but I'm sure that's a blessing in disguise for them. District Twelve, well, I have no idea what the black paint and tails have to do with anything, but they look like dirty fish or something.

That's good. Our little lamb costumes will be even more noticeable!

President Esmeralda Snow approaches the podium, elderly in age. She doesn't look as terrifying, but we all know she is. Maybe that's Serpine's angle for the future? Mine will be the fear of knowledge. I'll just say anything and everything to make sure people either fear me, want me, or choose to stay clear. I mean, lying should be fine in a place full of killing, right? Dirty tactics are welcome, and I'll do just about anything to keep my life. I'm not above faking things, lying, or even betrayal. Why care for people that want to kill you, and win as much as you do? There's no trust here.

It's a game of death, and one I plan to take seriously. I'm willing to do anything to survive.

Esmeralda Snow continues her speech, and Serpine looks over her shoulder at me. "You do realise we're lambs to the slaughter, right?"

I raise an eyebrow. "That's pretty dark of you to say."

She rolls her eyes. "Our costumes, I mean. The red paint is blood. We're lambs that have been slaughtered. It's symbolism for our district, and our role in Panem."

"That's harsh." I frown. Oh. I don't like our costumes so much now. It's like our stylist wants everyone to know we don't have a chance.

Serpine scoffs. "It won't be symbolism in just five days, Orion. It'll be real."

I lean over, so that no-one hears us. "I don't want to die," I admit, voice shaky. "So can you stop talking about it? I want to enjoy myself before all that happens."

She shrugs. "It doesn't bother me. Live a lie for now. Because when that gong sounds, it's everyone for themselves. Alliances are pointless because it just means that the enemy is forever behind you."

The chariots begin to move again, and I look away. I guess Serpine doesn't want allies then. But that shouldn't scare me; not everyone is like Serpine, planning on murdering as many people as possible. Or at least I presume. No, there is bound to be someone - or maybe a few - that are genuine enough to be trusted... well, manipulated. It feels mean to say, but it's true. I don't want trust; I just want someone naive enough to fall under my words, and the "trust" I'll place on the table.

I guess I have to learn that being mean is the only way I can come close to winning.

I haven't given up just yet.

* * *

**Blair Taverly, District Three Female.**

* * *

The chariots soon roll back into the Remake Centre, the harsh lights now toning down. I scrub my eyes furiously as we pull to a stop.

"Are you okay?" Cyril asks, voice plain. His black suit contrasts a lot against my silver one, and I guess it reflects our personalities too. Even our firework-like lights were different. It's like the stylists wanted to show us off as complete opposites.

I don't know why. I'm sure Cyril would love having me as an ally, sarcasm completely intended.

"Yeah," I shrug, jumping from the chariot. Micro and Pixel come walking over and I inwardly groan.

"You both did great," Micro compliments. "I've had a few notices from potential sponsors already."

"Specifically for you, Blair. Cyril, you only got a few." Pixel admits.

People would give me their money? They should just give me it instead, rather than make me play this game. Of course that'd be too much for them, seeing as I'm like a prostitute, being paid to entertain them. It's disgusting.

When Cyril asks them a question - about prices and items, and if he can choose beforehand - Micro and Pixel take him to the side, away from me. I should feel offended; but Cyril is taking this seriously, and I want to say I am, but for now, I'm just... neutral. I have no real opinions. I'm annoyed I was reaped, and that will forever linger at the bottom of my heart, but that's it.

Maybe it's better I don't have too many emotions now. I can focus on training and tactics without distractions that way. I won't let anyone get in my way to going home. As shitty as District Three is with their horrid stereotypes, it'll always feel like home, even with my parents being as distant as possible, leaving me torn between them.

Great, I'm thinking too much about it now.

I pull the headpiece off, drop it to the floor, and walk towards the elevator. I jab the button angrily.

"Hey," I stop, and look over my shoulder at Oker Horvath from District Six, his lips curled into the most ridiculous smile possible. "Your outfit was one of the best out there. I mean, you literally exploded," he laughs at his own joke, and I deadpan. What an obnoxious way to try and tell me he's witty. "But yeah. You looked nice."

"Think you should compliment my stylist, not me." I reply emotionless.

"It was a sly way of telling you that you're attractive." he laughs, cheeks burning in colour.

I deadpan again. "I got that the first time."

His smile soon falls. "Sorry..." he mutters, walking away when the elevator doors open.

Basically tried to shove his charisma in my face. I could tell he would be a charismatic person just from that smile. No need to dress it up with words. The doors slide shut, and I take a deep breath as we rise.

I don't think I'll look for an alliance. The more I think about it, the more I realise that my fuse is short when it comes to most people. Cyril I can tolerate because he's quiet and slightly creepy. But in terms of other people... nah.

The doors open again and I walk to my room. I rip the outfit off, dropping it to the floor. I stand there for a little while in my undergarments, just staring at the large floor-to-ceiling window.

Maybe I was rude to Oker, and Cyril, and Micro and Pixel. Truth is, why should I be nice? To win, Oker and Cyril will be dead. Micro and Pixel are blatant decoys to the fact that my life will be miserable even if I win, and that I'll never escape the grip of the Capitol.

If I stay realistic - not grow attached, not feel guilty - then my chances are stronger.

* * *

**Demara Chass, District Five Female.**

* * *

The tributes begin to move fluidly for the exit, each with their district partners or mentors. I stare across at Bennett, whose wide eyes hold some form of mischief. He's a trickster; I appreciate that in a small child like himself. With a flick of his wrist, Bennett scoops a handful of sugar cubes from the horse's feed bag, clutching it in his small hand. He crosses the small distance between him and the boy from District Eight, before throwing one at his head.

The District Eight boy - Satchel I believe - turns around in kind, and the pair share a laugh whilst Clio looks on with amusement in her eyes.

"Demara," I hear the voice, turning to Ellery. "Did you enjoy being undressed with the eyes of a thousand Capitolites?"

"As long as they sponsor me, I don't care really," I admit. It's true; they can say or do what they want, as well as it benefits me. Undressing me? Sounds promising for some money. "Did you enjoy watching?"

Ellery smirks. "It's how I like to spend every day. Sitting here, watching children be glorified, all the whilst remembering my own time as a tribute. Aw, the bitter memories."

Over the years that I've watched Ellery Haynes from afar, I've seen her grow closer to her fellow mentors - but retain that bitter sarcasm and snobbery that made her famous in District Five - but soften in her words. Rumours were that people threatened Ellery's family, and that's a no-go apparently. They could try that with me... I pull the locket from underneath the outfit, running my thumb over the case.

They weren't there. It wasn't that I expected it... but it would've been nice to see them, to see how they've grown and changed since the years I last saw them...

"Demara?" I snap out of the dream, zoning back in on Ellery. She rolls her eyes. "I said, have you thought about an alliance or singular?"

"You told me singular," I answer. "I think I want an alliance. Maybe just one person though."

"They'll betray you." she warns.

"I'll manage," I flash a brief smile. "I think there is a certain safety in numbers. Double the chances of sponsors, sleep, lookouts-"

"Death."

"Well yeah, but I thought that's expected of the Hunger Games?" I raise an eyebrow. "I might try the boy from District Eleven, Deacon. Or District Six, Oker."

Ellery nods. "I suspect it'll be you that betrays them then. I've spoke to their mentors; both boys are sugary nice, apparently."

Truth is, maybe I was thinking that. I did want someone who'd be easy to fool. Not so much manipulate, but rather allow them to believe this alliance would be as strong as steel. I don't want to fool them completely; but it's all I've ever known. I did it for a living. It's in my bones and blood. I just won't be psychopathic towards them. No, that's not me. Just a little lie here or there to sweeten the reality that is Demara Chass.

Besides... who tells the truth for this? When everyone is out for themselves, I highly doubt standing order or your history is important; I just don't like talking about mine. It makes me feel nostalgic of all the times I shared with my Father and siblings, conning the rich people out of their money with a few sob stories.

I shake my head. "It's only a thought." I grow quiet, suddenly feeling guilty as Oker walks by, a dopey smile on his face.

He looks too kind. It'd work for us; but now I feel bad for him, even though I have no clue as to anything about him apart from his name. Ellery seems to coin on, so I smile, straightening myself out. "Don't you have somewhere else to be?" I roll my eyes for the part, before walking away.

When I notice Oker in the elevator on his own, I ignore the knot in my stomach and chase after him.

* * *

**Alvar Zale, District Four Male.**

* * *

"She trained you?"

I swallow, looking away from the older man. "She paid for us to be trained better," I admit. "I was just lucky enough to take this opportunity."

"Leave the sarcasm alone. You're much too young to understand it," Octavian answers. Odyessa soon enters, groaning when she realises the situation. "Odyessa!"

She quickly turns and leaves, and Octavian stomps after her, face of fury.

That's when Cera's head pops around the corner. "Are you causing trouble again, Alvar?"

"No," I stand stubbornly. "It's not my fault he's pissed at her. I didn't do anything but what I wanted to do."

Cera's lips melt into a smile. "Whoa man, you're touchy. Need to lay off the sugar or something. You're antsy," she teases, plucking the carton of crackers from the cupboard, hitting the door with her hip. "Octavian will calm down, and Odyessa will still be partially evil. Here, have a cracker."

Cera doesn't understand. Unlike her, my school, my miniature Training Centre was funded by Odyessa. Technically, she's paying me for this "opportunity", even if I'm not a prized block of stone that can hit with a hammer but can't add simple math.

I'm doing this for the trainees who aren't obsessed with weapons.

Of course, my alliance will be full of them. It's already apparent that Sable, Luxe and Jezabel are focused solely on caving in as many skulls as possible. Camillo is a weasel, and I wouldn't trust the slippery eel if I could grab him, whilst Cera is unpredictable.

I eat quietly next to Cera, who hums happily. Then she turns to face me, crumbs stuck to her chin. "Alvar?"

"What?" I pause, frozen.

She swallows. "Do you think that the alliance will be stable at all? Octavian was telling me that he's heard worrying news about Sable and Jezabel."

I wouldn't be surprised if they failed some psychological test. I saw Sable groping Jezabel's face, and she's always smiling like she's hiding the best kept secret. "Like?"

"Firstly, you need to be more warmer when talking to people. It's lame that you're so hardened," she shakes her head, clearing her thoughts. I grumble a little. "Secondly, I don't know. He just mentioned to not trust either of them."

I scoff. "Not being funny, Cera, but anyone could've told you that. There is only one winner."

Her eyes harden instantly, dulling in colour. "So I shouldn't trust you either, right?" she counters harshly. I don't know how to answer that. I swallow thickly, awkwardly trying to avoid her stare, though I end up looking straight back into her eyes. Then she laughs. My eyes widen as her lips quiver. "I'm playing with you, macho," she smiles. "I guess we shouldn't trust each other. I don't know. I'm not going to be false or different with them. I'm not changing for the likes of the alliance, Alvar, and I would hope they don't hide behind façades either."

I blink a few times. "Acting like that will end up making you hated." I stand abruptly, turned off by her apparent disregard for my feelings. "I'm just saying that, at the end of the day, everyone is waiting to stick the knife in the other."

I walk towards the elevator. Cera climbs over the couch - cracker box in her hand - and rushes after me. "Mean." she pouts as we step in the metallic room.

The doors shut. The air thins.

Maybe it's me, but I'm starting to wonder if I was right in doing what I'm doing. I want to win for the sake of a new generation that is persecuted. For people who aren't in the fold. I don't want to be a martyr - I want to be a Victor, to prove my worth.

Cera wouldn't understand that, but I always knew she wouldn't. Nobody will.

* * *

**Luxe Wylde, District One Female.**

* * *

One-by-one, we file into the room, like lambs to the slaughter. I keep my head high and my shoulders tight, examining the tributes around me. Some are older and taller as expected, but then there are the little kids, the ones who look like butter wouldn't melt.

Only a few years difference, I remind myself. By their age, I had animal blood on my hands, and knew the art form of cutting someone's throat.

Innocence was lost a long time ago in me.

"Smile," Camillo hisses as the man, Maestro, raises on his platform. "You look incredibly creepy."

I roll my eyes. "This is my normal look. I don't mean for it to be unnerving."

Camillo snorts. "You're doing it on purpose. Now grow up. You're making us look bad."

Camillo cares about looks. Not to the degree that Varsity does, oh no, but to a more important factor; Camillo wants to establish us as the nice Careers, the ones who will smile and laugh, even as we plan out your excruiating deaths. It's rather pointless; I'd rather be honest and let everyone know I'm planning to kill them slowly. I shouldn't have to hide myself behind a charade for Camillo's sake. I'm only tolerating it because I happen to find Camillo's smarts a redeeming quality.

"Now go!" Maestro shouts.

Camillo instantly turns to face me. "Please don't jump at the other Careers," he whines. "I want to establish a good place in the order. If we find a place and settle, we'll have better control over the decisions, and a stronger influence over District Four."

Tactical, Amethyst mentioned. I see it now. "I'll try my best not to displease you." I reply sarcastically.

Over his shoulder, I instantly notice Jezabel Gremory, tailed by a chimpanzee that could only be Sable Kordel. Soon enough, Alvar Zale and Cera Monet are also here, the latter looking giddy as she stares around the room.

"Hi everyone," Jezabel starts, voice high-pitched. "I'm Jezabel, and I'm nominating myself as Career leader," she raises her hand. "Anyone who opposes, please raise your right hand and slap yourself with it- no I'm just kidding," she laughs. "Just say it."

She's trying to be funny to build friendships. Completely ingenuity. "I think a vote is better. Shows more unity." Camillo smiles.

Jezabel narrows her eyes, and her smile tightens. "I understand that. But Alvar and Cera have already declined, and Sable here isn't bothered."

I meet eyes with the strange man-child. He stares back, innocence in his eyes clear. "I'm really not," he smiles toothily. "I honestly don't give a shit, but you know..." he trails, staring harder. "Your eyebrows are weird."

I cock one of my "weird" eyebrows. "You seem too childish for an eighteen year old." I counter.

Camillo tenses at my side, but Sable continues to smile. "I like you, Luxe," he nods. "I think you'll look beautiful covered in blood and dirt, even with those caterpillars on your forehead."

I grit my teeth, my fingers curling into a fist. Then suddenly, Camillo is grabbing my shoulder, laughing falsely once more. "He's just messing with you. Friendly banter between friends."

"Do you have anger problems, Luxe?" Jezabel steps in, and mentally, I can feel Alvar and Cera exiting the conversation. Sable just plays with a curved scar on his arm.

I tilt my head slightly, looking at Jezabel's fuller features. "I'm not aggressive," I recite Augustus' words, the same things I should say in case people asked too many questions. Then, I go off-track. "Are you self-conscious about yourself? I only ask because stating yourself as leader seems like a cry for attention." I smile viciously. "I could easily do it for you by splitting your lips open with a knife."

"Luxe!" Camillo shrills.

But Jezabel smiles. "I'd like to see you reach, pint-size."

I step towards the challenge, but Camillo is hooking me from the elbow, dragging me away. "Calm down," he hisses in my ear. "You're being too aggressive like she said."

I shake him off and spin around. I flash a brief smile, before walking the rest of the way towards the archery station alone, satisfied by our brief quarrel.

At least she'll make things interesting.

* * *

**Deacon Fleet, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

I swing the mace with my right hand, watching it collide and pummel the cotton dummy. The head splits open like an egg, red feathers spitting out. I smile toothily at the trainer nearby.

"Have more faith next time." I say, dropping the item on the ground and walking away, hearing the man's disgruntled groan.

People always underestimate everyone. I wouldn't do that; I even believe that the two munchkins from Districts Five and Eight are worthy threats. Age doesn't change something. Neither does gender, or district, or whether or not they're trained. Of course, the trainer countered that, so I had to prove myself, even just to be able to smile proudly.

I move across the room swiftly, heading towards the rope course. I take a deep breath and climb, scrambling towards the top. Halfway, my arms and legs burn with strain, but I keep going, determined to reach that little brass bell at the top.

A hand suddenly grabs the rope I was aiming for.

I turn instantly, meeting eyes with Blair from District Three. I smirk, but she just looks disinterested, hauling herself past me.

Challenge accepted.

I scramble even faster, pushing the idea of pain into the back of my mind. Then Blair stops. I catch up to her in seconds, stopping next to her face. "Hi." I beam, catching her attention. She looks me over once, before turning back and moving again.

But I keep up with her as we reach the top. "Are you stalking me?" she asks.

My eyebrows knit. "Stalking is a rather harsh word," I say smoothly, hoping to make her smile... it doesn't work. I cough, scratching the back of my neck, swaying on the thin rope. "You can ring the bell if you want."

She grabs the string and rings it once. Our eyes meet for a brief second, and then she drops, falling through the ropes rather nimble. I can't help but laugh, making a mental note to interact with her more. Usually, people can't get enough of me! Blair is a tricky one. I need to make sure to crack her at the very least.

Hmm. Ally material? I store that too and slip down also. When I hit the mat, Blair is gone, disappearing into thin air almost. She's a very tricky one. I like that though.

I move stations again, this time plant identification. The station is already occupied by Leona, so I take my opportunity to try and make friends once more.

"Leona!" I cheer. She instantly jumps, staring at me hard as I sit down next to her. "You're not interacting with anyone."

"What's the point?" she mumbles. "Someone out there is going to kill me."

I frown. "You shouldn't think of it like that. They're teenagers before murderers."

Her worried eyes gloss with tears and she looks away, busying herself with the leaves again. Leona has been an emotional wreck ever since we arrived. Kane tries to cheer her up, but ends up making it worst, and Gypsy has barely made an effort outside of me.

I've tried to speak with Leona, but she's like Blair, almost immune to whatever I do. Compliments, charisma, just everything... nothing works, and whilst it's frustrating, it just makes me want to try harder.

"Let me help you?" I smile, catching her attention. "I'll help you find allies. Ones you can trust."

She blinks a few times, dazed. "What?"

"Allies," I laugh. "I'll help you find them. Give you some pointers to make friends with them. You know, advice and that, like an older brother."

Leona nods meekly. "Thank you, Deacon."

The words set my heart aflutter. "No problem."

I spend a while giving Leona some tips, like approaching someone, or just being more charismatic. It's not that she's not friendly - Leona is a sweetheart - it's just that she sees everyone as her potential killer or a corpse, and it's halting her attempts. Satisfied, I leave her to it, standing up.

The lunch bell chimes. That's when Blair appears again, slinking out from the behind a gauntlet platform. I smile; let's try this again then.

* * *

**Faele Resquin, District Six Female.**

* * *

As the bell rings, the tributes begin to move. I freeze in my seat, staring around at me. Oker smiles kindly, before getting up. He didn't have to, but he sat with me, because he didn't want me on my own. It was one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me, and it happens to be from someone who... no, I can't even think about it like that!

I wait until every other tribute has disappeared before moving. I don't want to be caught in the crossfire of being knocked or tramped! So many have found alliances already that it makes me feel even more useless.

I sigh as I walk into the large room once more.

Oker has been spending a lot of time with that Demara Chass girl. I know because Aston mentioned it, and Oker blushed a little. I think he has a crush on her; I wouldn't be surprised, she's quite attractive. But even he has an ally already, and I have nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I look around at the others. Satchel Taupe and Bennett Helling.

They're another group. Allies until the bitter end. Do they not realise that there's dangers in numbers? The more people, the more likely something will happen.

"Hey!" I fly out of my skin, throwing myself against the nearby station. Clio Dimity edges closer, her bright eyes looking amused. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

I swallow thickly. "I didn't expect someone to talk to me, is all."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Why? You look perfectly approachable."

"My Mom always said it's because I think about the worst outcomes and then tell people and that usually leads to me being alienated slightly," I pause, chewing on my bottom lip. "I'm just anxious a lot. Sorry."

She chuckles. "I think it's more paranoia than anxiety."

_Friends will lead to death. Friends will lead to death. Friends will lead to death. _I recite the words perfectly, the same words I've been thinking since Oker approached me on the train. No, scratch that - when Aston helped me onto the stage.

"Did you want to come with me to the poisonous berries station?" Clio asks, and my heart skips a beat, before I remind myself of how my chances have just dropped.

I shy away from her piercing eyes. "Nightlock is the most famous and poisonous. The acidic tang covers up the fact that it's burning holes in your organs," I look back when I hear her laugh. "It's not funny. Most people die from it! A-And if that's not the case, then you could get seriously injured!"

Clio suddenly looks offended. Oh great, I've scared the only other person to want to know me. "I don't doubt you," she smiles. "It's just... amazing how you knew that. Do you have a photographic memory?"

"It's eidetic memory. But no, I don't have it," I respond kindly. "I worry a lot. I've learned about the things that could easily kill me. Don't worry about me though."

I didn't prepare for teenagers though.

Clio offers her hand and I wince, staring at the simple gesture that could mean a thousand different things. Does this mean we're allies? Does this mean that I'm forever bound to her, and that I have to help her whenever I can? Or worse... does being with me paint the hugest target on my back that's possible?

I don't get the chance to answer though. Swiftly, Clio grabs my hand, and yanks me with her. I yelp as Clio charges through the crowd, narrowly dodging the Career from District Four, whose solid eyes burn through us. He's... unnerving.

He'll be a killer for sure. Somewhere in my mind - as Clio slows down - I can't help but picture him over my body, and whilst I'm begging for help, he's driving the blade in deeper. I scream again, only this time, I know I'm doing it... I know I'm screaming because I'm trapped here, I'm going to die, I'm going to die and... and I can't do the things I want to do! I've forever trapped with everyone as my enemy!

"Faele?" I snap out of it again, staring at a confused Clio. "You screamed. Is... is everything okay?"

I steady my breathing. Was that scream real? I feel like my head is going to explode. Constance's words resound in my head, and I force a shaky smile. "Kinda," I admit truthfully, looking over her shoulder at the swords displayed. "I... I thought you said poisonous plants?"

"But you know about them. So weapons instead," she says gleefully. I swallow thickly and nod. I really don't want to lose Clio. At least until I know more about her. She smiles one last time, before pushing me towards the trainer. "Give her the biggest one you have!"

* * *

**Beatrix Reiser, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

The shrill scream makes me look up from my seat on the floor. It's that girl again; Faele Resquin. That's twice she's made abrupt noises, like screaming or shrilling, freaking out over whatever is in her head. I've watched her carefully, just because she keeps nearing my station, before walking out, a jittery mess.

But it's not like I'm pushing her away. When she approaches, I smile softly and kindly, even making room for her to sit down next to me... yet, I'm slowly learning that either she's not all with it, or she's emotional and confused about the scenario.

I don't blame her. The reality is a harder pill to swallow than I thought.

I turn back and busy myself with the knots in front of me. I check each one three times, before starting the next one carefully. The trainer watches me, his wrinkled face just in the edges of my view. "You're rather the expert."

I smile softly. "I'm just working hard for it."

"That's the spirit, girl," he chortles. "Don't let them get you down. Be positive, be working hard."

Everything he says is obvious, but I like the sweet atmosphere he radiates. I've been here all day and, besides the odd thing that nags the back of my brain, I feel at peace. He's open and warm - and I'd like to think that he'd remember me, even after I've possibly died. He probably won't; but it's a nice thought.

Something clatters in the distance, metal hitting the cement. I push the stray hairs from my face and look over my shoulder at Clio Dimity and Faele once more. The entire contents of the sword rack is on the floor, and Faele is as far away as possible, eyes widened and terrified. Clio tries her best to comfort her, but Faele is freaking out once more.

I sigh, turning back. "I'll never get peace." I mutter under my breath as I fix the knot, checking it one, two, three times, to ensure the strength is good for my needs.

"She's a right character," the man comments, obviously about Faele. "You'll never forget someone like her."

That's the truth; to be remembered, you have to be outstanding or ridiculous. Before me lie over a thousand dead District Twelve females, the majority without names. Whose to say I won't be one of them? The thought makes my insides twist uncomfortably. It's one thing to die, it's another thing to be wiped from the face of Panem completely.

I won't let myself be another corpse to the factory machine.

I pull the knot tighter, one, two, three times, and stand up. Crispin mentioned allies; I guess it's time to scout them up. "Thank you for your help today," I wave at the elderly trainer. "It was a pleasure to have your time." I comment politely, before walking out.

I won't be with Callum, that's for sure. He's too wishy-washy and laid-back. He isn't taking this nearly as serious as he should. He's a flight risk and not one I'm taking.

Each time I try to think, I'm led back to Faele and Clio. Whilst Faele is obviously... different... I think the balance will make a stronger alliance. I bite my lip when I near them, barely a few inches from their faces. But then I turn around, shaking my head.

What if they reject me? What if they aren't even an alliance?

It's safer to be alone. Yeah, that's what I have to see; that it's better to be alone, then be around people who will eventually die... it's easier.

I hold back the tears as I walk back to my safe corner, embarrassed and lonely.

* * *

**August Dreygon, District Seven Male.**

* * *

"How was training today?" Opax asks as North enters the room.

"It was educational, I suppose," I watch the girl sit down, glancing at my book when she looks back. "I learned a few tips. It wasn't totally pointless."

"That's good to hear," Opax replies. "And you, North?"

The door opens again. I glance up again as Maple strolls in. The air tenses for a brief moment, before North smiles softly. "I... I don't know." she answers.

North is rather passive, I've learned. She does what people say without question, though I know she hates it because her eyes change slightly, like they harden. She's a pushover, plain and simple. It's moronic for her to allow people to do so, but for me, it poses a good advantage if I do choose to try and ally with her. If being the preferable word. North has many qualities that make her a decent ally, but it's easily overwhelmed with the negatives.

I can't make this decision lightly. I need to be in utter control and pick the right people. One mistake could shatter the entire structure I'm trying to build.

"Opax, can I speak to you for a second?" Maple mentions.

Opax completely ignores her for a moment, until she's yanking him up, face twisted in annoyance. When they're both gone, I keep my eyes on North, who looks around the room... basically anywhere but on me.

"Did you spot any potential allies today, August?" North suddenly speaks.

I close the book politely. "I'm carefully studying people first," I admit, half-truthful. I've disregarded about three quarters of them as not suitable already. "I don't want just anyone," she frowns, and my gut twists in suspicion. "Why the sad face?"

"No reason," she faintly smiles. "I was just wondering... I haven't found anyone yet."

Pushover. "It's only been one day. You have plenty of time," I answer, sliding the book across the table towards us. "Read this. Opax leant it to me. It's about survival, and whatever else he believes is useful."

I didn't want the book; but Opax insisted, and I felt bad for declining him. Truth is, it posed a few good points I had overlooked. I'd never tell him that though.

North grabs it, a grateful smile on her face. "Thank you." she mutters.

Maybe if she learned a few of those things, it might heighten her potential. I need someone who is competent, but falls under control easily. I need to be control... I don't want to slip like that again. If I'm in control, it can't go wrong.

We sit in silence for the rest of the evening. Maple nor Opax returns, but that's fine, because their bickering does nothing but put our lives on the backburn, so they can deal with their quarrel. North doesn't speak much, engrossed in the book, and I silently hope that she's taking it to heart - her qualities are too good to miss up on, I just want her to make better of the weaker aspects.

I mean, what would North say if I tortured someone for information or supplies, or psychologically messed with someones' sanity? She wouldn't say anything. She's too easily influenced. I need someone who won't question my methods.

After all, all is fair in love and war, so all is fair in a game of wits and survival surely.

I need people who will at least tolerate it with zipped lips.

I'm here to win. Not to trust people - because that's ridiculous in this environment - or to make friends. I'm here to win, and I'll do anything necessary.

"This book is really good," North mumbles, amazement dripping in her voice. I straighten my back a little too proudly. I'm pinning my hopes on you, North, don't let me down. "I never knew that the most poisonous berry was nightlock. I always assumed it was... something else."

I smile slightly. "Glad you find it useful."

The door slides open and Maple walks back in, flustered and red-cheeked. "Go to bed the pair of you." she commands.

I rise without question, and so does North, but I didn't expect anything different from her. We both exit the room and down the hallway. When we reach our doors, North slowly turns around. "August?"

I hum.

"Can I borrow this book?" she asks quietly. "I... I need some help. I was too busy thinking to do much today."

I have to hide my grin. She's becoming more suitable now. A bit more information, her passive attitude, and I might have the perfect ally for my own goal. "Certainly. Make sure to give it back to Opax when you're finished though." I answer, stepping into my room and closing the door.

I will win this. I will do whatever is needed to get through this in one piece. North, unfortunately, is just a piece.

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ sinkorswim hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Thoughts on these twelve tributes, and which ones are your early favourites (obviously it will change, just from this glance)?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**Hope everyone had a Merry Christmas!**

**Sorry for the delay on this chapter. FanFiction decided not to work, and I was busy with my family most of the holiday. I'm finally done though, and I should be back on track again.**

**I'm pleasantly surprised at this chapter. Of course, I may not have got their personalities down right, but remember that I can only interpret what you give me. I can't read your mind.**

**All alliances will be confirmed on the blog in two chapters time, after the scores. For now, the confirmed ones are: Faele+Clio and Bennett+Satchel.**


	5. Wings

**Wings by Birdy.**

* * *

**Wings.**

_Oh lights go down. In the moment we're lost and found._

* * *

**Callum Reeves, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

The curtains swing open, letting the sun in. I shoot up in bed, blinking furiously. After living with my cousins, Bently and Joel, for so many years, I've learned to be more alert due to Bently's teasing, or Joel's midnight escapades through the Seam.

Pulling myself outta bed, I get changed and leave for breakfast. At the table, Crispin looks up, worried eyes ready to burn out. "Morning champ," he smiles sadly. "Have a good sleep?"

I ruffle my hair as I take a seat. "I'm not used to such nice beds. It was difficult."

I miss the sense of home my crazy house had. It feels alien-like here. Crispin and Beatrix make it decent enough to live, but it'll never be right for me. I'm almost thankful for the chance to sleep on the floor in the arena, for the memories and comfort.

"I have a question," Crispin mumbles as I swallow my cereal. "Can you two head downstairs together?"

I grin from ear-to-ear. "Sure! We and Beatrix barely know each other. It'll be nice to learn about you," I direct it at her, dirty blonde hair masking half of her face. "It's fun meeting new people and that."

Beatrix blushes. "That's kind of you, Callum."

"Call me Cal." I give her a thumbs up, before returning back to my food.

As we eat, Crispin keeps pretty hush. It's a little unnerving, but I push the thoughts away and focus on what I have to do today. After being approached by Orion Tallen yesterday, I feel like he's my best shot. I mean, no-one is lining up to be my ally... and as horrible as it sounds, at least I don't have to compare myself to Orion, or live up to impossible expectations.

The bell chimes and we all rise. Crispin bids us goodbye as we step in the elevator, Beatrix tucked up in herself as the doors slide shut.

"So tell me something about you?" I start, making sure to be cheerful. Joel always said the best thing about me was that I'm easy to open up too.

Beatrix shrugs. "Not much to know. I'm pretty simple." she adds with a soft smile.

"Okay then," I laugh. "I wish mine was as simple. I live with my Mom, Aunt, Uncle and my cousins. We're a pretty big family. It's chaotic, but it's welcoming and friendly. I feel at peace there." I grow nostalgic, reaching for my token.

"Why don't your Mom and you live alone?"

My heart clenches and I freeze. "It's complicated." I grow quiet.

"I'm sorry," she mutters. "You don't have to tell me anything. I'm just a stranger."

"No no no," I counter, pushing away the sinking feeling rising up in my chest. "As I said, it's complicated. Touchy even. I haven't quite learned how to tell people." I laugh awkwardly, hoping to ease the situation a little.

Beatrix smiles softly. "I guess this is where I tell you I'm here if you need to talk?"

"Likewise." I offer kindly.

The metal doors slide open with a belated squeak. Beatrix says goodbye, departing swiftly. I stand still for a few minutes, bathing in the good and bad memories of my Father, before a bounding figure jumps into my view.

"Hi!" Orion practically shouts. "I know we still barely know each other, but I'm lonely, and you look sad. I feel like we can be friends. Allies even. Is that weird?"

I smile lightly. "We can learn about each other. I'm not that lonely. I don't look sad. And sure, we can be allies, even if you are a little insane," I counter playfully. "Come on. I'll let you follow me if you stay quiet."

Of course Orion doesn't. He talks and talks, yammering away about his achievements. I eventually tune him out, my promise ring weighing heavily in my pocket. I focus a little too much on my Father, and the many unresolved issues that we're likely never going to fix.

"Want to try out something else?" Orion snaps me from my thoughts.

I stare at the slightly shorter boy, blinking. "Maybe later." I walk away, but Orion gives chase, never abandoning me. _Snap out of it, Cal! _So I turn around and grin. "Let's go play with some swords or something, pretend we're warriors."

The words echo throughout my brain, but I ignore them. No more getting sidetracked. Time to stick through something, just to be able to procrastinate another day.

* * *

**Cyril Faraday, District Three Male.**

* * *

Everyone is scared. Some show it clearly on their faces, pure fear radiating from their eyes and postures. Some are less obvious, twitching and jumpy, eyeing up the competition. Even the Careers don't look as confident as they should.

And the fear is keeping certain people together, and certain people apart.

I cross the room, making sure to note where everyone is. With that it mind, I walk towards an empty station, the one containing books and ledgers. The trainer welcomes me with a warm smile as I sit down, pulling the dusty object into my lap.

It's a book on weather. The best way to beat certain climates and temperatures. Whilst I went for the survival manual, the trainer offered me this. It could've been a decoy - but I believe it plays a bigger part into the arena.

"Learning anything useful?"

I crane my head upwards at the boy from District Seven, August. "I am indeed," I murmur, still staring at his icy eyes. "Heat causes dehydration. The best way to avoid heat is to wear wet clothing."

He frowns, sitting down next to me. "Wouldn't that just weigh someone down?"

I blink a few times, never removing my view of him. He's interesting. Everything about him reads friendly, but there's a certain aura to the way he's looking at me, like I'm sort of specimen. It's ironic; I'm looking at him the same way. "Not necessarily," I look down. "Cold weather means bundles of clothes. But with hands, feet and head secure, you can beat the best of it." I recite the words aloud, for mine and August's benefit.

"That's an interesting book."

"It is," I smile softly. "You can borrow it, if you want."

"No it's okay, Cyril," he smiles as well, which is rather nice of him. And he knows my name. I'm starting to believe that he's seeked me out. Or he's learned it out of politeness, or for competition purposes. The possibilities are endless. "Can we talk?"

I close the book out of politeness. "I'm fine with that," I nod. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Terms for an alliance, hopefully."

My mouth scrunches up. "Are you not with anyone?"

"My district partner, North. But that's really it. We were hoping for someone else," he pauses, running his finger over the dust on another book. "And we both thought about you, considering you haven't been around anyone else."

I never remove my eyes from him. It's easier to study someone this way. The eyes are the portals to emotions, and the art of deception. His eyes glimmer in an unusual way. Even if he were trying to trick me, I think I could easily pull the upper hand. I'm just speculating, of course.

"I see," I digest the words, quickly sorting out the pros and cons to it all. Particularly North. I'm not so great around girls. "I guess it'll be okay. Having a larger alliance full of different people can mean a variety of skills. But it also means possible conflictions and different views, and thought processes."

August smiles. "I only heard the okay part. Come. Meet North, and maybe that'll help you decide," With a wave of his hand, the girl comes scurrying over. She smiles shyly, hands held in front of her. "This is North."

She extends her hand towards me. I blush furiously, studying her features as I grasp her hand. "Your ears are rather large. Your hearing must be tremendous."

North's eyes widen and she snatches her hand from mine, recoiling in slight disgust. I continue to blush as I turn back to August. Of course she doesn't take it as a compliment... "I'm all for an alliance," I finalize. "I think it'll be beneficial indeed."

"Great."

"I have but one question though." I continue. August nods, allowing me to finish. "Will this alliance be led, or will we each have free speech, maybe even a voting system?"

There's a pause, before August offers up a hand. "Free speech. It's fairer that way."

I nod. "Just what I was looking for."

I have a lot to add into an alliance. Compared to August who looks fitter, and North who has a friendlier personality, I provide knowledge, and a varied view on the world, with outcomes constantly alert in my brain.

Different people work better, in my opinion. You just need mutual respect and trust.

* * *

**Jezabel Gremory, District Two Female.**

* * *

"I'm going over there," Cera comments. "See you punks around."

The shorter girl practically trots off like some horse. I stare at Alvar with a smile, before he too excuses himself from the group. Then it's just me and Sable, Terror Toddler as I like to call him, penned from Saffron.

"Can we go paint?" he tilts his head, staring ahead with those beyond creepy eyes of his.

"It's not very productive," I say sweetly and gently, making sure not to be too patronizing. He's basically a little child. But a murderous one, and not one I want as an enemy. "Why don't you try something more..."

"Deadly? Murderous? Bloody?"

"Yeah," I trail off. "Just go and use a weapon. Take chance of all the practice."

Sable grins from ear-to-ear. "Shouldn't you do the same then?"

I should be, but I have bigger things to worry about. And by bigger things, I totally mean Luxe and her baby fat she calls Camillo. I trust neither of them. I don't trust Cera and her peppiness either, but at least I can stamp that out when it becomes unbearable. No, I can't control Luxe or Camillo, and I hate it.

"Just go Sable," I offer kindly, still trying to not sound too condescending. "I'll join you later. I need to find and discuss something with Luxe and Camillo."

"You mean fight," Sable beams, a dark glimmer in his eyes. "Oh please, you can't do anything without me being there. It's never fun without witnesses. I'll cheer for you as she pummels your face in!"

My eyes narrow. "What makes you think she'd get the upper hand in battle? I happen to be as efficient as her. I just have all my marbles still. She's obviously took too many hits to the head, and now they're scattered."

"You're... dainty," Sable shrugs without a care. "She'd snap you like a twig. They'd be tons of pain and gore. Luxe would probably cut you into pieces. Loads of tiny, wonderful, darling little pieces that you could pick up and play with like little dolls."

He starts to move his hands, gesturing the idea of playing with my innards. It's official; I'm surrounded by crazies. He doesn't even talk to me, focused on his game. Even as I walk away, he's talking to himself, playing with imaginary items.

Crazy. Bonkers. Mad.

I zone in on Luxe though. Her ugly hair is easily noticeable. Camillo is by her side, like a trainer to a pet. I march over with purpose. When I arrive, I smile, even if I want to scalp her by her horrid roots. "Hi guys," I stand by Camillo. "I was just wondering what is going to happen with you too. The others are starting to think you don't want to be with us." I add with a pout.

"Sorry about that," Camillo responds with kindness. Slimy fuck. "I... We wanted to train together some more. Make sure we're up to par with the others."

In other words he's been training Luxe to not bark as much. "I see. But does this mean you're in the alliance or not? Sable is sad. He likes you the pair of you a lot."

Luxe mutters something under her breath, but Camillo slaps his hand on her shoulder hard. "We're in. I just don't believe in the whole leader thing, seeing as we didn't get the chance to vote."

"Oh. Well, I'm the leader. We've already decided," I stand taller, broader, making sure he knows his place under me, and not the good kind. "As you said, we didn't get the chance. But we needed to sort it out like pronto."

Camillo sighs. "I see. Well, we're still in it. Right, Luxe?"

"Sure." she says simply, not even sparing me a glance. I'm sure I'd turn to stone if she stared too much.

"Super!" I clap. "Tomorrow, we gather to discuss strategies. Be there or be square. Kisses!" I glide away quickly, barely leaving them time to question or complain, particularly Camillo and his stubbornness.

As long as they're in the alliance, I can keep an eye on them. I won't allow such morons to spoil what I've worked so hard to maintain. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer and all that.

* * *

**Bennett Helling, District Five Male.**

* * *

I push the noodles onto the spoon with my fingers. I lift it carefully, before I throw. Satchel doesn't see it coming before it splatters on his shirt. He instantly laughs, wiping it away before taking a seat. Behind him, though, I can see Keran Farley looking on in disappointment. So uptight.

"Rude." he comments, twirling his own food with a fork. "I should do the same to you."

I bat my eyelashes. "You wouldn't. I'm too sweet looking for that."

"Hardly." he scoffs.

"Hey," I frown. "I'm innocent. It's brilliant. People don't expect me to do it because of how I look. You, on the other hand..." I grow quiet, grinning.

Me and Satchel get on great. We're like brothers. We could even be twins, split up at birth where he got sent to the ghetto of District Eight, whilst I was shipped to the less-than-pleasing District Five. It's a nice thought. Unlike others, I feel like Satchel and I have a deeper connection.

It's probably because no-one else would want someone young. But who cares? Satchel and I could still do it. We're not useless.

"I have an idea," I smirk, catching his attention once more. "After training, I want to stop by that old lady covering the running course."

"She won't race you, Bennett." Satchel deadpans.

I frown. "Dick. I didn't mean that, that's cruel. What I mean is... did you see her talking to the girl trainer, the one who was handling knives?"

"You're confusing me." he frowns.

"Nevermind. Just follow my lead, okay?"

Satchel doesn't question me. He rarely does. I mean, I approached him with stolen sugar cubes, and told him he could be sweeter with these. He should know by now that my methods are unorthodox.

As lunch ends - and the tributes leave in pairs and formed alliances - we hang back. When the coast is clear, I steal the knife, and guide Satchel towards her. She smiles instantly, weathered features peeling back into amusement. "You two littles want a try on the course?"

"No ma'am," I smile sweetly. "I actually have something of urgency. The lady over at the knives station dropped this," I show her the butter knife from the canteen, and the old woman's eyes rake it over. "I don't have the time to tell her... but I was wondering if you could?"

"Of course dear," she takes the knife. "I'll be right back."

With a skip in her step, she heads to the other side of the room, a good five minute walk. The moment it's clear, I pull myself up onto her podium, the control pad sitting in front of me. "What are you doing?" Satchel hisses.

"Keep watch."

"You'll get us... in trouble or something."

I ignore him though, slamming my fingers over the panel. I hear the noise, and the electronic track soon picks up in speed. It's basically a large treadmill, but now it's faster. As horrible as it sounds, I'm hoping someone will fall over and injure themselves. Hopefully a Career.

Me and Satchel need some advantage. A few dirty tactics didn't hurt anyone... apart from the victim, of course. When I see the old lady returning, I jump back down.

"She said it's a plain dinner knife. You have nothing to worry about, littl'un."

"Thank you so much." I grin, pulling Satchel away by the wrist. Away from her, he turns around, face pale. Satchel groans though. "What?" I ask him.

"That was dangerous. What if someone caught us?" Satchel frets.

"What they gonna do, punish us? I think we're being punished enough, don't you?" I counter. "Look. It isn't going to hurt anyone. Worst it'll do is maybe a sprained ankle. It might help us, you know, particularly if a Career steps on it."

Satchel shrugs. "I guess you're right. Next time, let me do it, okay? I'm not letting you throw me under a bus." he smirks, walking away. I tail after him, sticking by my brother's side.

Sure, we're young and desperate. But everyone is in this situation. All actions are completely justified. Yeah, I'm sure they are.

* * *

**Oker Horvath, District Six Male.**

* * *

"Ew. Is that hair?"

I turn to Demara, smiling widely. "Why, yes it is. My hair to be precise. Back from my braid days," I fondle the small piece, almost straw-like in touch. "That was a crazy period of my life."

Demara smirks. "And how was it crazy?"

"I just started playing poker with these new friends of mine. If I lost, I had to cut my hair," I smile fondly, nostalgia fluttering in my chest. "As you can see, I lost. But it wasn't a big deal. I was planning on getting a haircut anyway."

She laughs. "If it makes you feel any better, the short hair suits you."

I run a hand through it, grinning. "Thank you, m'lady."

Truth is, I like to change. I like to keep things moving and shifting constantly. Life grows stale quickly, and over the years, I've learned that the best way to enjoy yourself is to push the boundaries, escape the comfort zone, and adapt. My hair is only a small part of that. I've tried poker, sports, arts... I've had three different jobs, two different homes. I like the change. It helps me grow as a person, Marah once told me.

Demara shows me the knife. "Do you think this one is better?"

"It kinda looks like teeth," I grimace. "Try a curved one."

"This?" she shows the next knife. When I flash a wink, she laughs, taking the weapon with her, before attacking the dummy ferociously.

I like Demara. A lot more than Blair, anyway. She's amiable and kind. But compared to Blair, she's actually tolerant of me, rather than standoffish. When she approached me in the elevator - not long after being rejected by Blair - she laughed, and poked fun at me for failing.

I knew she had to be my ally from then.

Keeping a close eye on Demara, I inspect the other knives, avoiding the baby tooth looking one. The trainer hums disapprovingly when I choose the smaller, stub-like one, but I ignore her "expertise" and stick with my gut instincts.

When I turn around, Demara isn't alone. Alvar Zale, sword in hand, is next to her, fighting a dummy. Demara's movements are slower too, like she's scared of him or something.

I don't think. Knife in hand, I storm over, careful to not upset the situation too much.

"Demara," I call, getting her to turn around. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." she responds, sounding confused.

Alvar glances at me over his shoulder though. He doesn't scare me. I straighten my back, making sure to keep smiling. "Just making sure. Don't want you feeling lonely." I'm careful with my words, in case Demara is the type of girl who prefers to stand on her own two feet. I'd understand - but I'm looking out for her too.

Demara smirks. "Oh. I see."

"See what?"

Alvar blatantly continues to watch the conversation unfold. "What you're doing, Oker," Demara continues. "I'm a big girl. I can handle myself quite well."

Damn.

"Yeah, I see that now," I laugh awkwardly, heat rushing to my cheeks. I keep the stubby knife locked in my hand as I turn around. "Let's not discuss this again."

But as I walk away, Demara follows. "Why? It's not that bad. You didn't try to show your masculinity that much."

"Bad habit." I laugh again, wishing to be out of this conversation. It always happens. I never mean for it! I have a tendency to rush into things rather blindly. I just put Alvar next to Demara and that little lightbulb in my head started to tick.

"Yeah. I don't need a knight in shining armour, Oker," Demara clarifies, but her voice is still sweet, kind, and she doesn't seem that pissed. "Just be careful. Don't make enemies. It'll screw us both up."

Despite knowing barely anything about her, one thing is certain: Demara is clever. "Yeah I know. Oh well. If it happens, I'll just cut my hair and save it as another weird souvenir, okay?"

* * *

**North Merrean, District Seven Female.**

* * *

I take a deep sigh, falling on the couch. Opax and Maple are nowhere to be seen, but neither is August. I feel a little sad by that. August has treated me so nicely that I feel a little dependent on him. Unlike the others, he doesn't want anything from me. He's just genuinely trying to help.

After a few minutes, a door slams, and Opax storms out of the floor, jamming his fist angrily against the buttons. A few seconds later, with wide eyes, I watch as Maple collects a glass and painkillers, before disappearing into her room again.

"They're arguing," I jump out of my skin, August appearing in the doorway. "It's all they ever do."

I steady my breathing as he sits down next to me, too close, too warm. "Yeah."

"It's about Delphine Birch. At least, that's what I've gathered. You'd think they'd care more about us, considering Delphine has already won, but nope," August sounds bitter. I don't like it; he's too gentlemanly for that. He turns in his seat, bright eyes flickering. "Did you read the book?"

"All of it!" I grin too goofy, and end up biting down hard on my lip to nod instead. Great, he probably thinks I'm weird now.

"It'll help," he says softly. "For you, me, and Cyril."

Cyril. I almost forgot about him. Admittedly, Cyril is okay, but I don't like him that much. I didn't want to tell August because, well, it wasn't my place. Cyril was his choice. And I didn't want to upset or make him mad.

August shifts closer. My cheeks burn and I look away, attempting to calm down. To say that I have a crush on August is ridiculous... totally, unbelievably, absolutely... possible. "What do you think of Cyril?" he asks, voice low and raw.

"I like him," I lie quietly. His comment about my ears was horrid. I didn't know whether to cry or hit him for pointing out one of my many flaws. "He's a great addition," I continue, voice shaky. I cough, and smile shyly. "We'll make a great team."

"We will."

"We're not inviting anyone else... right?"

August takes a while to answer, his eyes looking off in the distance. When he comes back, he shakes his head. "Three is the perfect balance. Not too many, and not too little."

He's so smart.

"Can you get me a glass of water, please? I'm parched."

"Sure!" I chirp, rising hurriedly. I almost fall over the couch through my eagerness. _Stupid North! Stupid, stupid, stupid!_

Most of my life I've done what I can for friends. I mean, this one girl at my school - super popular too - wanted me to do her homework. I did it, of course. I was so desperate to fit in with her, and have more friends. Then she ignored me the next day... until she wanted something else. Stupidly, I did, and the process repeated until I snapped, and slapped her... not my finest moment... but it made me grow. I stopped letting people walk all over me... kinda...

But August isn't using me, or walking over me. He's too nice for that. He helped me learn about plants and that, and he wanted an alliance with me. He wouldn't do that if he was using me.

I fill the glass with cold water, before rushing back to August. He smiles gratefully and downs it within seconds. I wait patiently, in case there's another request, but he smirks. "Thank you. But you can sit, you know. I'm not going to be asking anything else of you."

"Oh," I fall down on the couch, right on the edge, away from August as humanely possible. Again, he stares forward, empty. He looks a little sad. "Are you okay?"

"Peachy," he stands abruptly, coughing. "I'm going to sleep. Goodnight, North."

"Night." I smile kindly. As he passes, his hand brushes against my bare arm, and I begin to giggle. I quickly catch myself though. _You're so ridiculous, North. He's just a boy. Your competition, nonetheless. _

But I'm not competing against him. But I am. It's all so confusing. The answer lies at the deepest part of my stomach, boiling away, but I'm too scared to accept it. To accept that I'll have to see everyone die, or die myself.

And I don't know what I'm more scared of; the fact that I'm more than likely going to die, or the fact that a part of me is wishing that everyone will die quickly.

* * *

**Serpine Dextra, District Ten Female.**

* * *

"Orion has already left," Sunny comments as I walk out, running my hands through my wet hair. "You're running late and he didn't want to wait for you any longer."

"I never asked him to wait for me."

Sunny narrows her eyes. "I get that you're annoyed at the world about everything. But Orion was making an effort, and your attitude isn't winning anyone over."

Allies? It spells death. At least on my own I won't have to worry about a possible betrayer in my midst. I can focus on survival, killing if I have too. I haven't quite worked out the details. And besides, Orion can pretend to be nice all he likes, but it won't win me around. He practically radiates desperation to be noticed.

With my hair still wet, I grab a red apple off the table, and enter the elevator nearby. Oxford enters the room at the last minute and I roll my eyes, that little ledger tucked under his arm. Why would he want to remember? Most people - my parents included - want to escape whatever that's tormenting them. Oxford wants to seek it. It doesn't make that much sense, but I don't want to delve any deeper.

When the doors open, I exit quickly, ignoring the blatant stares from the other tributes. Most will be dead in two days anyway.

And then I see Orion in the distance. I come to a halt by the spear station, staring ahead. Orion is talking with Callum Reeves from District Twelve, their chat seemingly idle and boring, until Callum walks away and Orion chases after him like a lost puppy.

"You lost?" I scoff, turning to the voice. The man stares at me with hard eyes. "Don't be rude. Answer me, girl."

"Answer." I challenge, a smirk playing on my lips.

He growls, turning around. "If you don't want nothing, you should leave. Scaring away the other tributes with those eyes of yours."

My gut clenches. If people knew me, they'd understand that I'm not as wicked as I look. I've just learned the harder way of life, and how everything isn't made of gumdrops and rainbows. "I'll be leaving you then." I answer and turn to walk away, that is, until a glimmer on the table causes me to turn back.

A small pendant sits on the table. It's Capitol-encrusted, a broad mark of the seal. Feeling brave, I swipe my hand across the table and nab it, before skulking away swiftly. I don't bother to stare too long, slipping the pendant into my leather sneaker with ease. I'll save that for later.

I spend the rest of the time meandering around, staring at the other tributes, learning what I can. Alyssum Harper stays to herself but always squints when she's reading, showing an eyesight problem, whilst Leona Verbena is basically a recluse. Orion, well, he desperately tries to keep Callum's attention, whilst Deacon Fleet pathetically follows Blair Taverly.

All these alliances, all these people interacting. Do they not understand the rules? They'll all have to die. If they grow close, they'll only feel the pain of losing someone.

They say that it's better to have loved and loss, then never loved at all. I think it's better to stay on your own, and never experience that shitty loss in the first place. People will only ever hurt you.

* * *

**Camillo Creed, District One Male.**

* * *

"You make this much harder than it needs to be." I groan as we walk over towards the other Careers.

"If I'm that much trouble, why do you bother?" Luxe hisses back.

Sometimes, I question myself that too. But then I remember how rewarding it is to have Luxe on my side, and the advantage is shall give me. "Because I care," I lie. "Now shut up and pay attention. And stop smiling."

Luxe doesn't say anything. We reach the others, Sable bouncing on the balls of his feet. He grins wickedly when he sees me and Luxe. "Here they come!" he sings, prompting Jezabel to turn around. Her eyes find ours and she smiles.

"It's good of you to make it," she starts. "We're having this meeting to discuss our plans for the bloodbath."

Sable's toothy smile grows wider on the word. "We kill, of course. Maim and injure and cause as much trouble as possible."

"This is why I'm the leader, and Sable isn't," Jezabel points out, though I'm sure it's to spite me and Luxe. I simply nod, making sure to mentally note everything the girl says. "We will go into the bloodbath, grab our supplies, and then move. We will only kill if necessary, or if the notion is easy to accomplish."

In other words, she doesn't want any wild cards - like Sable or Luxe - doing their own thing and killing whoever steps too close. "What about fighting?" I ask. "Careers have always led the bloodbath. There needs to be kills."

Jezabel smiles wickedly. "I'm sure the other tributes can kill for us. Our main priority is to gather supplies, group, and set off as a team." Luxe suddenly scoffs. I roll my eyes as everyone turns to her. Honestly, I'm trying to help her and me here! "Do you have a problem, Luxe?"

"Just that I think this is all shit," she waves it away. "But who am I to judge? I'm only a team member, not the dictat- oh, I mean leader."

"Watch it." I hiss quietly, and Luxe shudders in apparent delight.

"I think we should do what every generation before us has done. We kill, we lead, we fight. We're trained to take control of these games, not hang back and let the weaker ones shine." Luxe continues matter-of-factly.

I growl; she's throwing away our opportunities here! We were to sit in this group and be a team. Then, when it was time, backstab and steal and kill our ways to the Final Five, where we depart on friendly terms... or I kill Luxe. Which would've worked better, if Luxe didn't try to enrage Jezabel each time.

"Fight!" Sable cheers.

"No," Jezabel growls. "We will work as a team. No-one is playing villain here."

My heart starts to thump. I clutch Luxe's elbow, but it's too late. She yanks back and steps forward, almost nose-to-nose with Jezabel. Sable giggles on the side, but Cera and Alvar look visibly awkward. "Is that a challenge, airhead?" Luxe snarls.

"I'm surprised you know other words besides 'kill', 'murder', and 'bad hair days'." Jezabel retaliates, not backing down.

I step forward. "That's enough," I wedge myself between the pair, glaring at Luxe's proud form. "We are a team. Act like it." I warn.

Both ladies calm down instantly. Jezabel I don't care about, but Luxe royally messed up then. I grab her by the elbow, pulling her away from the heated conflict. "Remember why you're doing this. Don't fall for her traps." I hiss in her ear.

Luxe yanks herself from my grip. She gives the shocked group a final glance, before snarling at me, and then walking off. When she's gone, I sigh, playing up to my part.

"I'm sorry for her," I turn, apologising. Sable seems a little potty about the lack of a fight, but Cera and Alvar are visibly pleased with the lack of tension. "I'll try and change her mind."

Jezabel steps towards me. "You need to, Camillo," she warns. "If Luxe doesn't change her attitude, she's out. I won't have her spoiling everyone from the greater goal."

"Gotcha," I wink. "I promise to tell her to cool it. I'm the only one she really listens too."

She doesn't. But they don't know that, and they don't need to know that. I have to make Luxe understand that, for the greater good, we need to do this carefully. Reckless and impulsive never lets anyone win.

And by having Luxe on my side, under my wing and by my side, I have the best chance possible. My own personal little assassin, who I can off in the night when the time comes.

Luxe is a tool for me. A volatile, angry, psychopathic tool who will kill when I snap my fingers.

* * *

**Keran Farley, District Nine Male.**

* * *

"Can I please use that?" I say, approaching the two boys. Both Orion and Callum look up instantly, the small set of knives held tight in Callum's hands. "I've been waiting patiently for two days, but there's always someone there... and today's my last chance."

Callum smirks. "I'll play you for them?"

I frown a little at that. They really should have some sort of register, so people actually get their shot. "I... I just want to use them."

"That's boring," Callum answers, before handing them over to me anyway. I smile grateful. "I would've given them to you either way. I just wanted to play."

"I'll play with you." Orion cuts in enthusiastically.

"Nah," Callum waves him away. "I've beat you like six times now, Orion. There's no fun in it anymore."

I end up playing with my thumbs whilst Orion pouts, and Callum resorts to trying to make him feel better. I want to talk to them more. The pair of them really, but more so Callum. I've been rather lonely the last two days - with Alyssum practically ignoring me at every chance - and they seem like decent people. Maybe a little wild.

Callum raises his hands, stopping Orion mid-talking. "Keran, right?" he asks, and I nod. "Why haven't you used the knives, considering you wanted them?"

I frown. "I..."

I have no decent answer. I shake my head, politely stepping past the pair of them. I draw the knife and balance it at the soft cotton neck, before awkwardly slicing, creating a jagged mess. Behind, Orion guffles. I look over my shoulder, and Callum shoulders him. "Sorry," Callum apologies. "Just that Orion wants to know why you were hanging around us."

I want to tell them that I'm lonely, that Alyssum has disregarded me as useless, that I feel something nice about the pair of them that makes me want to lead a life of crime, completely different to morals.

"Look," Callum mutters. I follow their gaze to Bennett Helling, who greedily pops a berry in his mouth, smiling when he realises that it's not poisonous. My gut twists; that's a crime! You're not suppose to eat them, I checked!

He deserves to be here, the little criminal! I'm a good person, and he just broke a rule... I have to do something.

I leave the two boys, walking towards Bennett and Satchel. "Excuse me?"

The man behind the station turns back around. Bennett goes beet red instantly. "What do you want, kid?"

"Bennett here ate a berry," I say matter-of-factly. "Is that allowed, or was that against the rules?"

The trainer smirks. Bennett curses under his breath, and Satchel ends up blushing too. "Kid, there are no rules apart from contact. If he ate a poisonous berry, I got the antidotes behind this here station."

It's my time to blush. Bennett laughs, voice cutting through the fire on my cheeks. "Goody two-shoes." he glares, before Satchel drags him away, both boys staring at me over their shoulders.

And then Callum and Orion appear. "I-"

"You told on them," Orion frowns. "Not cool. They're only kids."

"Who cares?" Callum injects. "At least you got your morals still in tact. Orion has thrown his away to be a master manipulator. And it wasn't even that bad. Not like they'll get in trouble or anything."

Orion gasps, rather delayed. "Hey! I just said it was my idea!"

Despite being embarrassed, I laugh awkwardly, letting the heat die down on my face. As Callum and Orion bicker playfully, I realise that they might be okay. Something about the pair of them makes me feel less suffocated and bitter.

Even when Orion asks if I want to leave, I decide not to.

* * *

**Leona Verbena, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

Clio and Faele keep close to me, their friendly faces being something I've never really noticed before. I take a deep sigh, and turn to face them. "Hello," I force myself to smile, following Deacon's advice. "I'm Leona."

Faele shrinks into Clio's side, but the older girl seems strong. "We know," she laughs bright. "And we're Clio and Faele, but I'm guessing you know that too."

"Sorta." I smile wryly.

"Do you want to join us?" Clio asks openly.

"Pardon?"

She sniggers. "Well, I was offering for you to stay with us and learn some things, but it counts for an alliance too. We could use more people. Right, Faele?"

Faele doesn't answer. She simply shrugs, drawn in to Clio's obvious warm personality. I guess maybe that's why I chose them too. Clio seemed too friendly to turn anyone away, and Faele is the extra, I guess. It's better for my self-esteem.

"Um..." Deacon's words echo in my mind, reminding me that I need to be more forward, and actually help my situation. "Yes please." I smile sweetly.

"Awesome," Clio chirps, offering her hand. "It's nice to meet you properly, Leona."

Clio and Faele stay with me the entire time we're at the station. We talk quietly, the little things that matter about our personalities. Clio is more charismatic than Faele, and the Six girl tends to shrink away from the conversation on more than one occasion. I don't talk about my life, though, the stinging reminder of where I come from, and the harsh poverty I've lived. I've been an adult since I could walk and talk.

The bell chimes. "Wow, I'm hungry," Clio chuckles, drawing me and Faele on each side of her as she walks to the canteen. I smile softly at the company; I truly like these people. I might've only just met them, but I can say that I like being around them both, even if Faele doesn't acknowledge me as much.

At lunch, we sit together. Clio laughs loudly at Faele's comments on certain foods being dangerous to eat due to the high risk of food poisoning. Back in District Eleven, you ate what was given. Every time I saw some animal on my plate, I winced and felt guilty, the food chain placing them under me. It wasn't right.

"Excuse me?"

I look up from my plate. Beatrix Reiser stands behind Faele, who notably cowers. "Hi," Clio takes charge, our unnamed leader. "Can I help you?"

Beatrix takes a deep breath, then smiles. "I was hoping I could sit with you."

"Of course!" Clio chimes. "The more the merrier, I've always said."

Beatrix takes a seat next to Faele, who watches her rather awkwardly from the corner of her eye. I chuckle a little, Faele's discomfort obvious. "I've been watching you all for a few days. I've thought about approaching you before," Beatrix continues, playing with her food. "I was just never brave enough. You all seem like nice people." she smiles.

"I think we're awesome." Clio smirks, before nudging me in the side. I nod hurriedly, feeling the weight leave my chest, the pressure evaporating almost instantly.

Beatrix smirks. "I've noticed that too. I was wondering if I could hang around with you after lunch?"

My heart flutters a little at the small group of girls around me. Everyone is different, but I feel like we'll get on. Beatrix is a nice addition. I can't talk though; I've only just joined myself. I shake my head and look back at my meal; Clio will decide for us. Yeah, it's easier if she does it instead. Faele won't answer, and I think it's better if I don't...

It's better if I don't...

* * *

**Cera Monet, District Four Female.**

* * *

"Are you even taking this seriously?" I look up at Alvar's frown as he stands above me.

I move the paints with my fingers swiftly, swirling the rustic brown and golden yellow together into a big, dark mess. "I am. I've trained for two days straight. I doubt I'll forget by the time we enter." I look back down at the painting.

"Cera..."

"Dude, you sound like my Father," I groan, looking back up. "Just worry about your own training, Al. Jezzy's on the prowl."

"And what are you going to say when she asks you?" he narrows his eyes accusingly, and I place my hands up.

"Like, whoa. Don't go getting all judgy of me," I laugh as I stand up, the stickiness of the paint sliding down my forearm. "I'm chilling for a little while. I need to wind down before it gets crazy again. Jezabel will understand."

She won't. But oh well. I'm not here to please Jezabel, or be judged by Alvar, for that matter. I'm here because Father wants it, and frankly, I'm beginning to realise that all Careers do is stress, whine, and train. It's too mundane for me. Where's the fun in any of it?

"You're playing with fire." he warns.

"Actually, it's paint," I retaliate with a smirk. "And it's called painting, not playing."

"And how is painting going to save you?"

"It'll save me from going stir crazy," I grow defensive. Everyone always has something to say about my damn paintings or drawings. "You need to either train and leave me alone so I don't go insane, or wind down. Two days, Alvar, and you're as tense as that knot over there."

Alvar doesn't respond. He blinks a few times, confused, before he walks away. Of course he knows I'm right. For three days now, Jezabel has been pushing us to train. The difference is that she treats the boys nicely. Luxe only ever receives passive aggressive comments, and I'm treated like I'm non-existant. What do I owe her? Besides a royal beat down, absolutely nothing.

"That looks disgustingly perfect."

Sable. Not hard to identify him.

I spin around at the boy, about the same height as me. Dark curls lay just above his eyes, adding to the whole homicidal child vibe I get from him. "It's suppose to be a sunset." I lie. It's nothing - interpretation, I suppose, but I don't want to encourage him.

"It's pretty," he remarks, tilting his head. "It kinda looks like an infection, like puss and gangrene," he starts to shake, excited. "Can I help? Oh please please!"

"You want to paint?" I frown. I don't want him to ruin it.

He bats those bright eyes of his. "Please? I'll be good. I won't ruin it, I promise!"

I swallow thickly. I don't trust Sable because of his obvious instability, but I can't turn him away. It goes against my morals. I nod carefully, passing him the red pot. "One rule dude. Just don't go drawing me a dead body, okay?"

He pouts a little, but sits down and begins anyway. I smile softly and join him. This is the first time I've ever interacted with Sable before. I usually avoid him because he's a creep. But there's a surprising innocence in his actions - if you ignore the death he talks about - that makes me think his childhood was stunted or something.

I can relate to that.

I join him, moving my finger dipped in yellow. But then he starts to draw a person, and I frown. "Oi. I said no dead bodies." I warn.

"It's not," he shakes his head, and with his finger, he adds curls on the stick drawing's head. "It's me, enjoying your sunset-"

I blush, feeling proud. No-one has ever complimented my art before.

"-whilst thinking about if a body would bubble or melt if it got burned."

Moment ruined. I stand, still smiling, albeit a little false this time. "I'll let you finish off, Sable."

"Aw." he pouts again, but I'm already walking away before the little crazy can reply fully, or somehow blackmail with violence to stay.

I stride past Alvar with ease, the blonde boy looking over his shoulder with a smug smile. "Don't," I warn, grabbing the javelin. "My fun got ruined."

"You should stick to practising then."

I toss the javelin as hard as I can. It soars through the air, before slicing straight into the dummy's lower abdomen with ease. "I've spent far too long practising. And I'm not going back."

* * *

**Clio Dimity, District Eight Female.**

* * *

"Come on ladies." I grin, leading the three others towards the elevator. Despite training ending for good now, I wanted them to stay with me. It makes much more sense than travelling up alone.

Faele is the last one in. "I don't trust elevators..." she mumbles, but everyone pretty much ignores her. I don't, though. I swoop my arm around her shoulders and pull her in.

"It's okay," I whisper. "It's Capitol technology. It won't break."

"If we were to drop now, the elevator would gain acceleration and the likelihood that we'd survive it at all would be zilch," she panics, body starting to heave. "They'd be scraping our bodies from the ceiling..."

"Enough," I say more harshly. Beatrix and Leona don't say a word. Silence fills the room, the only sound being the small numbers bleeping. "You're working yourself up," I say more gently. "If you think bad things, you'll always end up like this. It's better for your self-esteem if you calm down." I finish with a light squeeze, just to show her that I'm always here for her.

Whilst I like Leona and Beatrix just as much, there's something about Faele that drew me in on the first day. I think it's the realisation that she's pretty hopeless and needs help. Or, she reminds me of Martin, and I've always seen him as some injured bird.

The door chimes on Floor Six. Faele doesn't say a word as she departs, but she smiles lightly at me before the doors take away her image.

"We don't have a plan for the arena." Beatrix speaks up.

I turn around, lightly chuckling. "I know that. But I guess the plan is that we avoid conflict and run."

"I think everyone tries that though." Beatrix counters, much more spirited than earlier.

Leona shrinks a little at the side. Why? I take a deep breath and smile. "Leona, you can input if you want."

"It's okay." she smiles sheepishly, pushing herself up against the metal wall.

But then the door dings. Floor Eight. "We'll discuss this tomorrow before the private sessions, okay?" Beatrix nods. "Sweet dreams, girls."

I leave the pair alone as I step into the main room. Pippin is nowhere to be seen, but Tweed is at the refrigerator, piles of food in his arms. He looks up, smiling. "How'd last day go?"

"It went super," I lie, because it really didn't. For a brief moment, I let the happiness slip, and fell under pressure quickly. Faele was panicking and Leona was quiet and Beatrix was trying so hard to teach them... it was all too much, I think I might have a migraine. "Satchel not back yet?"

Tweed scoffs. "Straight into his room. Typical teenage boy."

"You sound like an old man," I counter playfully, stealing a bag of candy corns on top of his pile. "You eat like a pig though."

"One of the only perks of coming back every year considering District Eight's shortage," he smiles bitterly as he unloads it all onto the table. "You're welcome to join me for a feast. Eat up whilst you can is my motto."

Feast. Cornucopia. It leaves a sour taste on my tongue. "I think I'll pass," I smile politely. "I need a lot of sleep after today."

Leaving Tweed to his bounty, I head to the bedroom, humming a tune that Sulia often did when she was stressed over her siblings. It fills me with nostalgia and memories, but most of it, it fills me with fire. I have to get back to them all. There's no question about it.

But I have a duty to my allies. To Faele, Leona, and Beatrix. We may all be very different, but we're outcasts in our own right, banded together to form an unusual alliance.

Then a door slams. I quickly rush to my door, seeing Satchel on the other side. His eyes are watery and red-rimmed. My heart skips a beat, the boy looking slightly broken. "Are you okay? Satch, you've been crying."

I don't give him time to answer. I rush at him and pull him into an embrace.

After a while, he laughs pitifully. "Clio, as much as this is fun... your boobs are suffocating me."

I laugh, pulling him away. "I'm sorry. Another annoying feature we girls have... but don't divert. You were crying," he looks away, but I catch his chin, feeling like a pestering Mother. "You can tell me, you know."

"I can't."

I frown. "Why not?"

"It doesn't matter," he pulls away, scrubbing at his eyes. He was happy earlier, wasn't he? What changed? "I'll see you around, Clio."

Maybe it's hitting him finally. My gut clenches uncomfortably, and I sink back into my room.

Two more days before everything begins. Two more days to work the impossible out.

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ sinkorswim hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Thoughts on these twelve tributes, and which ones are your early favourites (obviously it will change, just from this glance)?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**Happy New Year!**

**The first ever update by me in 2014, and it's this, Sink or Swim. There's a poll on my profile, so please go and vote!**

**Our alliances are as followed but not completely confirmed (it'll all be sorted out next chapter):**

**The Careers.  
Clio/Leona/Faele/Beatrix.  
Keran/Orion/Callum.  
Demara/Oker.  
August/North/Cyril.  
Bennett/Satchel.  
And our loners, Blair, Deacon, Alyssum, and Serpine.**

**So yeah. I enjoyed this chapter, and I'm loving these characters. Two more Capitol chapters and the murder will begin! Next chapter deals with training scores.**


	6. Flaws

**Flaws by Bastille.**

* * *

**Flaws.**

_When all of your flaws and all of my flaws are laid out one by one._

* * *

**Faele Resquin, District Six Female.**

* * *

"The scores aren't important."

"The scores are very important."

My eyes widen as Constance and Aston stare at each other, their burning eyes connected. "Oh, and why are they important, Constance?"

Constance's lips peel into a smirk. "It will define you for your entire life... which will probably be short if you don't gain a decent high score," she turns to me, moving her dark hair. "Score equals life, Faele."

"Hey, don't do that!" Aston storms in front of me and I melt a little, finding the odd comfort in his presence like I do with Clio. "I got a five and I won. You, Constance, only a got a six and you won."

"Average will give you hope I suppose." she challenges. "But can you honestly say that Faele will get average, at best?"

I don't think I'll get average. Maybe a little lower. But I'm hoping higher, just because I have a vast knowledge of useful information when it comes to life and death. But will they care about that? That's what worries me. I can name every single plant that can cause a rash, pimples or scarring, and every remedy to counter it... but I don't want to handle a knife or sword or spear or axe or...

"Faele?"

_Everything will kill you. Everything will kill you. Everything will kill you. _I snap out of it when I feel warm hands fall on my shoulder. Aston's frown is prominent, but so is Constance's pride. "Sorry," I mumble. "I'm... I'm thinking about the session and what to do."

Aston smiles comfortingly. He's like an older brother. It's what I expect Hadrian or Perry turning into. "Just don't panic. If you panic, you won't be able to fully concentrate."

"I'm not worried," I lie, not wanting to be a burden. "I just haven't worked out what to do. I could try the plants first, but that's my trump card. So I should do berries, right? Right. I mean, berries is a good place. I could try poison but then there's always the fear that there isn't an antidote for whatever I create. And it could burn, and I don't do well with burns."

Constance scoffs, leaving the room. Aston just laughs lightly, staring at me with genuine confusion. "You're panicking."

"No I'm not." I blush, looking away. Oker walks into the room, winks, and disappears into the elevator. "I should really go... Oker will be waiting for me..."

He knows I'm lying, but lets me go anyway. Inside the elevator, Oker doesn't say a thing, but there's a sudden energy buzz that makes me feel at ease, at least for a moment until the door opens, and the tributes are gathering around, talking and staring at each other.

I gulp. Oker turns, soft smile on his face. "Good luck, Faele."

"And you." I whisper as he disappears into the mass.

Clio is the first to pop out with Leona on her arm. It takes longer to find Beatrix, and mainly because she's in the corner, mumbling to herself about a routine of some sorts. As a group, we're one of the weakest. But we also have a strong variety.

I shake my head. It's time to focus.

Some them brains over brawn. Avoid the weapons in case you slip and stab yourself, or even another trainer. No climbing or running because that can result in a twisted ankle and we can't afford that.

No blades. No weapons. No items that cause harm.

No poisonous food. But I know how to avoid them.

My brain is completely blocked by the time we're allowed into the canteen. The lump forms in my throat as we all sit down, us girls shying away to the corner of the larger room. Leona falls by my side, shrinking into herself.

"I just want to let you all know that you don't have to drive yourself into the ground for this," Clio suddenly speaks, looking at each of us in turn. "We'll get through this, scores or not. And we'll do it as the team we are to show them all they can't split us."

"Agreed." Leona chimes quietly. Beatrix only nods, so I do as well.

"Great. Well, anyone want to talk about their plan?"

And like that, the panic sweeps through my veins and skull and I can't think of anything else but the high possibility of dying too soon.

* * *

**Luxe Wylde, District One Female.**

* * *

"Camillo Creed, District One."

Camillo rises from the table, sparing a glance at everyone else before running a hand through his dark hair. "Luxe, may I have a word?"

"No."

His eyes narrow. "Fine. I'll speak to you back at headquarters."

I spare him a smirk as he disappears, leaving for his private session. He never discussed with me what he was planning to do, but I don't particularly care. Camillo is brains and no brawn. It might come in handy - it's why I tolerate him and his attitude - but he'll still fall to a knife eventually.

"Headquarters?" Cera grimaces, catching my attention. "Makes him sound like a superhero or something."

"He'd like to think he is," my eyes drift to Jezabel, whose body is rigid with nerves no doubt. "Because he stopped me from tearing Jezabel's hair out, he assumes he has full control over the situation."

"He's mistaken." Jezabel chimes.

"For once, I'll have to agree with you." I smirk, turning my back on the four of them once more.

It's no lie that Camillo believes he has me under his thumb. But I'll let him believe it. After all, the more he places his trust in me, the easier it'll be to break it when the time comes. And in the aftermath, I hope the others will fall as well.

"Luxe Wylde, District One."

When I rise, no-one wishes me luck or even says goodbye. The most I get is an awkward smile from Cera, and I'm sure it's a mixture of nerves, fear and genuine idiocy. It's not that I care, but it's obvious that no-one wants me around. I'm here because they fear to get rid of me.

I waltz down the hallway, pushing the door open rather than let the Avox do it.

The room is much bigger without the trainers and tributes. It's hollow, glimmering with the assorted weapons and the differing screens for survival. I don't bother to tell them my name. They know it already. Instead, I cross the room swiftly, taking the mace off the shelf. I press the button, and the dummy shoots up from the ground. Using my thin frame, I bring the mace in an uppercut, crashing it into the chin of the dummy, red feathers spitting up everywhere.

I do that a couple more times before moving onto a sword. I make sure to puncture the heart repeatedly, slicing into the same hole rather than creating a new one. I use a knife to slice a throat, and a spear to catch the gut from a distance.

And then, I smile, turning around. "Finale." I whisper, hauling the large crossbow from the rack.

It makes a brief moment to set up three arrows in a row, before I aim carefully. I press the button and it shoots through the air. A rush of adrenaline pumps through my brain when it slices through the dummy's skull like butter.

And then I rapidly shoot the next two, one from my standing position, another on my knee. The two arrows sink perfectly into the neck and gut. The bell chimes, so I place the crossbow down on the ground, and walk towards the elevator. I don't bother to see their reactions. Their mumbling was enough information.

I jam my finger into the button and rise quickly. Camillo is there waiting for me when I get out, Varsity scrolling through a fashion magazine behind him. "Why were you so rude to me?"

"I was concentrating and you ruined it," I lie. "Why, what was so important?"

His lips pull back into a snarl. "Nothing now. You're so unbelievable."

I shrug. "If you're going to be a toddler and not tell me, fine. I don't care. I just had one of the best experiences in my life and I won't let you ruin it."

"That private session was the best experience in your life?" he raises an eyebrow.

"One of them," I reply, leaning forward. "The other is secret." I whisper.

* * *

**Sable Kordel, District Two Male.**

* * *

"Don't get too carried away, Sable." Jezabel warns when Luxe disappears.

I pout. "It's not like it's real blood anyway. They're just feathers, so like, it's not even going to be fun. It'll be lame."

Jezabel giggles falsely, turning back to discuss something with Alvar. Cera just plays with the spoons on the table. I like her. She's artistic and fun, and compared to Jezabel, I don't sense anything fake about her. I wish she was my district partner instead. "Hey," I grin, jumping into her view. Her shaky smile tells me that she likes me too. "Are you doing art again? Oh, can I help you again? I had so much fun last time!"

"Sorry champ," she looks away. "I'm just messing around. I'm nervous, I need something to occupy me."

"When I'm nervous, I just think about the things that make me happy."

Her smile tightens. "Do I want to know?"

I shake my head, pushing away the thoughts of bloody water and bodies floating on the surface. "Probably not. But it's so much more fun to share!" I pout again. "No-one ever wants to know what I'm thinking or what I want."

Cera laughs awkwardly. I frown even harder, and she stops, face turning serious. "I'm sure your friends appreciate it..."

"Nope," I grunt. "Corvus and Blackie don't talk."

Her eyes widen. "Sabl-"

"Huh?" I raise an eyebrow. "Oh! You thought they were people! No, Blackie and Corvus are my pets," I giggle. "Silly Cera. I wouldn't cut someone's tongue out. That's just weird."

"Sable Kordel, District Two."

"Oops, better go," I rise, turning to Jezabel. "Don't worry. I'll be on my best behaviour!"

I practically run down the hallway, enthusiasm bubbling in my chest. I'd be even more excited if they used blood, or even a blood substitute. Feathers just doesn't make sense. I can only ever think of Corvus when I see them be spat out.

The Avox barely has the chance to open the door before I bound in, using the enthusiasm to motivate me. "I'm Sable!" I wave at the Gamemakers, who each look amused. "I'll be showing you why I deserve that twelve, okay? Okay."

I move swiftly, taking the morningstar from the rack. I slam the button for the dummies in my rush and five pop up, each taller and fatter than the last. I move with ease, the morningstar no foreign object in my hands. It's my own weapon. My toy.

I crack the spiked ball over the head of the first one, spinning to shove it into the gut of the second, before slamming it into the gut of the third. I leave a trail of red feathers behind me as I meticulously slam it into the sides of the fourth, crushing the pelvis and stomach until the fat man has lost weight.

I turn to gaze fondly at my destruction. The feathers cascade to the floor, contrasting with the grey cement. It reminds me of Cera's picture, and how beautiful it was. I've created my own work of art... it's so pretty!

A bell buzzes somewhere. I snap out, realising that I never destroyed the fifth dummy. I blink a few times. "Is it over already?"

"You leave now, Mister Kordel." a loud voice commands.

I shouldn't be disappointed, but the sinking sensation makes my body feel numb. I gently place the morningstar back on the side and walk towards the elevator, defeated. I ride it in silence, replaying the mural in my head to try and uplift me.

"Did you do okay?" Cadmus is suddenly there, in my face, eyes wide and curious.

I instantly pick at one of the curved scars of my arm, avoiding his expecting eyes. "It went okay." I mumble.

"What to talk about it?"

I swallow. "No thank you."

Next minute I know, Cadmus' footsteps drift away, and I'm left on my own. I take a few deep breaths and head to my room, fond memories of when I was sad, and Licht avoided me because he thought I was going to murder someone. When he was sad, I took him to the Training Centre's graveyard, telling him the stories of how the former tributes died.

I hope that someone will do the same for me when it happens.

I'm not aiming to win, after all, so I shouldn't feel too sad about my score. I just wish I got to decapitate that last dummy like I had planned. Stupid fat one slowing me down.

* * *

**Satchel Taupe, District Eight Male.**

* * *

I'm not scared. No, of course I'm not. Why would I be scared of people staring at me, expecting a reaction, expecting to see the greatest thing in the world, and then judging me? Why would I be scared of a number that could define me?

Fuck it. I'm terrified. I'm just holding my tongue once more.

Bennet has since long gone, abandoning me for his own turn. Clio came over for a while, but then headed back when her ally, that Leona girl, started to look like she might pass out.

"North Merrean, District Seven."

And now I'm left with my thoughts. It's awful because my thoughts have always gotten me in trouble. From a few lashes across my palm, to a slap across the face from the line manager.

So I'm holding everything in. Every thought and feeling. If I don't say it, no-one can use it against me. Yeah, that's the pretty weird logic I'm using in my head. It's working for now. Clio is still sweet despite my emotions creeping through, and I have an ally who I really like. So far, I'm winning.

"Satchel Taupe, District Eight."

I perk up. "What? Wait, why was she so quick?" I blurt out, fear taking control of my tongue. The tributes around me begin to stare. It's so tempting to play dead once more. Sure, it's a mechanism, but it works wonders.

I move slowly through the canteen, avoiding the curious stares everyone sends me. I just want to shrink into nothingness right now. But when Clio shares a comforting smile, I perk up, and force myself to think better.

The Avox opens the door and I enter, fear burning through my body. I gulp, staring around at the daunting room that seems twice as big and scary as before. I stand in the middle and stare at the Gamemakers, fear freezing my tongue.

"Arvord, it's the possum!" one of the females giggle, leaning into her friend.

He flashes a smile. "So it is. Possum, begin."

My skin burns as I move sluggishly towards the knives. I take the smallest one and carry it towards the dummies, hitting the button. My body begins to shake as I raise the weapon up and shoot it downwards, landing squarely in the shin. But then the knife cuts through and I keep going, freaking out as it aims towards my foot. "Ah!" I shout, throwing myself backwards, kinda forgetting that I'm in control of my own body.

But I'm not. Not now, not when everyone is watching me... it's like the Reaping all over again...

I drop the knife, scanning the room. The big screens look the better option. I don't know why, but my stomach eases as I move towards them.

I press the button and it comes to life. I jab the first few, revealing some sort of quiz. My mind freezes and I stare hopelessly. None of the words make sense, all fuzzy and slanted. So I take a guess and press the first button, receiving a loud buzz in response.

"Failed!"

My heart thumps and I hit the next guess instead.

"Failed!"

I can feel the sweat on my back now. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears too. Scared, I start pressing anything and everything, receiving loud buzz after buzz after buzz until I stagger away. When I check the clock, I still have a minute or so to go.

The Gamemakers are whispering. I can hear them, like the kids back in District Eight, or my fellow workers in the factory.

_"Use what you know." _Tweed had told me.

So I gasp and throw myself to the floor. I hear their chairs moving, the rustling of noises, but I stay perfectly still. I hear someone running and jam my eyes shut, hoping it's all just a dream. Their whispering continues, making me shiver.

"Will someone hurry up and ring that bell! Check on him now! Oh, it's a disaster! Hu-"

The bell chimes.

I stand quickly, noticing a trainer right by me with suspicious eyes. I turn to face the Gamemakers, their reactions from scared to ready to laugh. I take a simple bow and scurry towards the elevator, keeping my head low. I fucked up.

But I did what I know. And that's to play possum.

* * *

**Beatrix Reiser, District Twelve Female.**

* * *

"Callum Reeves, District Twelve."

Callum rises, glancing in my direction. "Good luck for later." he smiles, before following the man out of the canteen.

I'm the last one left. By now, they'll be bored and tired of what everyone is done. I'll need to do something remarkable. I'll need to stand out. If I didn't feel the pressure before, I do now, twice over even.

For the next few minutes, I plot out my strategy for the session. I'll start with a sword or something strong, to show I'm capable. And then a spear to show my aim, which has vastly approved. I'll do some climbing and running, and end it with the spear again or something. No, something bigger. No, lighter. Oh I don't know.

"Beatrix Reiser, District Twelve."

The voice bounds around the room as I stand. I sigh, following the guy until I reach the doors, stepping in. The Gamemakers are clear as day in their coloured robes, staring at me with watery eyes from either laughter or boredom.

"Beatrix Reiser from District Twelve," I bow. "I'll be starting with the sw-"

There's a smash of glass. "Hurry it along."

The timer begins before I can even prepare. Panic rushes through me as I head towards the swords, grabbing the first one. I miss completely and hiss, flesh sliding across the blade. Ignoring the pain and small cut, I hook it off and rush towards the dummy already set up. I don't hesitate or think when I attack, the thought of it being another tribute making me sick to my stomach.

After that's done, I snap my head around, desperate for the spear. When I find it, I run without thinking, almost crashing into the shelving. I pull another one off, run again, and launch it at the dummy. It completely misses, swerving off to the side... but only by a few inches. My heart races and the panic - and the timer - blurs my mind, making me forget my entire plan. Where to next?

I see the running course and head towards it, pumping my arms and ignoring the little voice in my head that tells me I'm a failure.

"You don't need to press anything," the old woman trainer says with a soft smile. "It's pre-programmed, dear."

When I put my foot on the track, it buzzes to life, beginning to move. I take a deep breath - a whisper of confidence in my head - before jumping on. My foot slips but I regain balance, pumping my arms as I keep up with the speed.

_What will Clio think? Leona, and Faele? They expect you to do good._

I use that to motivate me to go faster. They need me to do well. In all honesty, whilst they're nice, they're not strong. But i didn't want a strong alliance... I wanted an alliance that would need me.

The track gets faster and it becomes harder to stay upright. My heart thumps rhythmically in my chest, slamming against my ribcage with each forced breath. Then's a churning noise before my foot slips.

My eyes widen for a brief moment, before I fall down hard on the track. The motion keeps going, though, and I'm thrown off the edge. I don't scream as I hit the floor hard, a sharp pain shooting up my spine.

"Medic! Medic!" the old woman's voice chants.

I weakly pull myself up, ignoring the growing bruise on my back. My eyes meet the clock. I need to move fast! Despite the pain, I jog towards the rope course, beginning to climb with heavy, belated breaths.

But the panic has rooted itself. My eyes keep shifting to the clock as it counts down.

_Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven._

My foot slips. I strain my arm to catch myself - hearing a click - before completely missing.

_Six. Five. Four._

I manage to let out a shrill scream as I hit the map below with a muted thud.

The bell chimes for the end. "What a show!" someone cheers, and when I look up through my hair and watery eyes, I notice that the Gamemakers are clapping, each laughing or holding back a giggle.

Bitterness weighs me down as I climb up. I'll be the laughing stock of my alliance, of this year's tributes. Might as well sign my name down for the bloodbath. With a slight limp in my step, I head towards the elevator, only to be caught by the pronounced medics.

"We need to check you over before you enter the arena." a man whispers, pulling my top up to inspect the back. I don't fight it. I don't have enough fight in me, even if I wanted to.

_Three. Two. Dead._

* * *

**Blair Taverly, District Three Female.**

* * *

"You did as much as you could. We just have to wait now." Micro confirms the obvious as he sits down at the table next to Pixel, whose notepad is flipped open, scribbles lining every inch.

"I was pleased with my efforts," Cyril joins in. I inwardly groan, falling hard against the couch. The noise catches their attention and I shrug, staring blankly at the television screen. "...as I was saying, I'm rather pleased. I did some mechanical work, and the usual suspects."

"Scores aren't all that important." Micro replies.

"I believe that numbers are," Cyril comes into view, sitting down next to me rather than the mentors. In his head, he's probably thinking there is some unspoken truce between us, when he doesn't realise that I will do anything and everything to win. "The scores will provide us better sponsors. There's certain things I need."

I wouldn't ask what. In fact, he should so blatantly tell when I'm around. I am still competition.

"What did you think, Blair?"

I stand. "I'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind," I say politely, even though the roughness in my voice speaks otherwise. I walk towards the elevator, straight past Micro and Pixel who don't say a word. "I'll be back for the scores." I tell them, though I might not bother for that either.

I press the buttons hurriedly, watching Floor Three disappear. The elevator rises, the roof coming closer and closer until it stops. My eyes widen and I take a step back as the doors open, and Deacon Fleet frowns from the other side. "Fancy seeing you here. Couldn't resist, could you?"

I roll my eyes as he steps in. "I was heading to the roof."

"So was I."

I still brand him as a stalker, having never left me alone. "That's nice."

"The roof reminds me of District Eleven, for some reason," he continues, spilling a life story that I'd rather not know. The least I know about him, the easier it is. "The trees and the height. When I was a kid, I'd climb right to the top, just to feel the breeze better."

I smirk. "Living life on the edge, I see."

His smile softens into a more nostalgic beam. "I do miss that place sometimes. Yet, when I was there, I wished I could leave."

That reminds me of District Three. As much as I sometimes loathed everything about it, it was home, and I'd give anything to return. That's why I won't let myself grow attached to anyone.

The doors open and the brisk air bursts through. It bites at my neck and bare ankles, but the harshness is welcome, a way to clear my head. Deacon steps out first, taking a deep breath and laughing.

"What's funny?" I ask, staring at his back. He's such a weirdo.

"Nothing," he calms, turning to smile. "Stay with me for a while? I need some proper company from someone who can understand, maybe even relate. Leona is nice, but too worried about herself.

I swallow thickly. "And what makes you think I'm not only worried about myself too?"

He shrugs. "I don't. I'm just fishing for some answers from the mysterious District Three female this year."

He's so very trying. I don't know whether I appreciate the effort, or whether it makes him more aggravating. "You won't learn much. I'm a closed book, I'm afraid," I answer honestly. "It's safer to play your cards to your chest."

Without word, I step back into the elevator and jam the button, leaving a downtrodden Deacon on the roof. When the doors are shut and he can no longer see me, I break down a little, tears heavy on my eyelashes.

It's better to be alone. It's always better to be alone.

* * *

**Alvar Zale, District Four Male.**

* * *

I take my seat on the couch next to Gemini, whose stares at the television set with hollow eyes. I guess that's one of the reasons that Octavian attended anyway. Either that, or he wanted to witness the results of Odyessa's seedy distribution for a better Career program.

"You better have done spectacular," Odyessa warns, falling into her own seat. "I didn't pay a ton of money for you to suck."

I shuffle uncomfortably in my seat, feeling her eyes burn carelessly at me. "You didn't pay a lot of money anyway," I recall the conversation with my trainer, the one who said Odyessa was looking for someone different. "I was just lucky."

"Lucky won't help you win, pretty boy."

"Neither will complete force."

She scoffs. "You obviously haven't witnessed the arena then. I guess if you had mirrors like that Ellery girl, then you could've dazzled them with bleached hair and shiny teeth," she winks, just as Cera walks in. "And if it isn't our resident junkie."

Cera rolls her eyes. "Mature. I can see why everyone likes you."

Odyessa smirks, but doesn't bother to reply. Gemini simply shrinks into the background when she's around. It's only added to my disadvantage, clearly, since Odyessa balances her time between me and Cera, and Octavian is rooting for her too, because he's a pervert.

The television bursts to life, revealing Hermes Abbatone, drenched in lime and orange. He smiles seductively at the camera, and Odyessa shivers. "He touched me once," she recites. "I slapped him so hard I saw the amount of facial surgery he had. Honestly, it was like gelatin just wobbling."

"That's disgusting," Cera frowns. "And I like gelatin too."

I zone out on them when the time draws closer. I need to focus. I need to hope and wish that I done good enough. With Luxe and Jezabel at war and Camillo being a neutral party, I need to make myself known before it's too late.

But it has to be for the right reasons.

Camillo is the first picture on the screen. His dark hair crops his face in such a way, it makes him seem almost evil. Underneath, dancing in red, is a _9_. I swallow thickly; I was hoping he'd do badly. After him is Luxe, my hopes slipping away as her picture shows her darker side too. I'm not surprised to see a _10 _either.

Odyessa snorts. "She's a bitch, I see."

I zone out as she continues. Cera makes a comment, but I can't even care for her now, not when my nerves are buzzing frightfully fast.

Sable is next. When he receives a _9_, though, my fear over Luxe is heightened. And we all thought Sable was the one to beat. And then Jezabel is next, and Odyessa points out that we're twins separated, with fake hair and fake teeth, too tanned and too pretty. But she gets a _10_, and I'm ready to be sick.

Cera whistles. "Impressive. I don't think anyone saw that coming."

My vision turns fuzzy as District Three passes. Cyril manages a _6_, whilst Blair manages a _6_ also. Both perfectly average, but high for their district.

And then there's me and I want to vomit. When I see the _8_, I'm ready to faint, and barely acknowledge Cera's more impressive _9_.

"Wow, Cera, you look hideous." Odyessa grimaces.

"You're one to talk with those wrinkles." she shoots back with a teasing tone.

But I can't think about anything. I stand, my stomach hollow as I turn to my bedroom, ignoring Cera's pleas for me to come back.

* * *

**August Dreygon, District Seven Male.**

* * *

The Careers were as expected. I had them pretty much right, bar Sable Kordel getting less, and Cera Monet getting higher. I guess looks should never be a factor in talent.

Cyril was expected. Maybe a bit higher, but reasonable. He's incredibly clever. It's one of the many reasons why I want him close; he'll be beneficial, and I'll be able to keep an eye on him the entire time.

"I'm scared." North whispers.

"Why? It can't hurt you. They're just numbers," I answer, but I can't deny my own butterflies. I'm both nervous for myself and North, but for differing reasons. I want to do well, but not so much that I draw attention to myself. And I want North to do well so I can proudly say that my intuitions were right. "If it makes you feel better, know that many people will get a lower score than you."

The screen swiftly reveals Bennett Helling and his below average _4_, which is decent for his age. Demara Chass is after with those piercing eyes that look vaguely familiar - but I won't go searching for the answer - combined with her _6_.

She smiles shyly. "You're so kind, August."

"I guess." I answer. She moves closer, inching across the couch. Opax is nowhere to be seen and neither is Maple, still dealing with their own personal problems during our time. It's so selfish.

District Six is average. Oker Horvath, from looks, is charismatic and charming. His _6 _is lacklustre, though, but understandable. Faele Resquin follows and North smiles warmly.

"You know her?"

"No," she answers quickly. "I just... she looks nice, is all. Do you like short hair?"

I shrug, watching Faele's _4_ fade from the screen. "It's hair, you know. Nothing that special about it."

North frowns, but I don't look for too long because the nerves spark up as my picture shows. "You have lovely eyes." North comments, her hand falling near mine.

I smirk; she's pretty obvious, and that's why she's easy to manipulate. For once, I'm not doing it vindictively. She's not a planned human shield, or sacrifice to escape danger. I simply like to be in control, and North provides me that. "Thank you."

I wait, nervous, as Hermes Abbatone takes his time. And then the _7 _appears, and I know my private tutoring lessons from Cleo has worked wonders with plants, herbal remedies and poison. The Gamemakers must've been dazzled. North is next and without question, her _5 _dampens my mood. She obviously didn't learn as much as I had hoped.

Then I hear a sob. I turn, facing the shorter girl. "North?"

She smiles sadly again. "I'm fine," she clearly lies. "Just... shocked. I worked so hard and did everything the book said!"

"There's no point dwelling. Points won't affect your standing," I admit comfortingly, even though I believe they do, and North has probably loss us a few decent sponsors. "Take it day by day. We'll manage."

She nods as Satchel Taupe appears, short, wiry and thin compared to the real self. When he manages a _5_, I begin to realise that North's just not as capable as I expected. But I won't change now. No, by doing that, it's all ruined. Clio Dimity quickly claims her _6 _before fading.

"Cyril done really well," North continues as silence befalls us during the break. "I..."

I look towards her, realising that her hand is cold and damp, likely from sweat. "What is it?"

"...nothing," she shakes her head. "I just, I don't know... I feel like a failure..."

You are. "You aren't."

The door slides open, and Opax breezes in, whiskey thick on his person. "How'd you both do?"

When North doesn't answer, I relent. "Average. North gained a five. I got seven."

Opax chuckles, voice thick from the alcohol. "I only got an eight. But that's a different story, m'suppose. Maple got a five but shh, don't mention it." he giggles, before swaying towards his bedroom. With his gone, North shudders.

"What?"

"We have no-one to help us," she whispers, turning to me. "Opax and Maple won't be fully there, will they? I mean, the scores and Opax went out drinking... that doesn't spell good news."

She's finally worked it out. "You're right. But we have each other, and that's good enough, if you ask me."

And it is. As long as I can keep a solid grip, we won't need anyone else.

* * *

**Orion Tallen, District Ten Male.**

* * *

District Nine is next. Keran smiles and I grunt, looking away from the boy on the screen. I'm sure if I looked too hard he'd complain about it. Callum either doesn't notice it or simply ignores it, but Keran attention-seeks a lot.

"Shouldn't you be more respectful of your ally?" Sunny berates, jabbing her spoon at me.

Truth is, I don't know whether I like Keran or not. He seems nice admittedly, but there's something about him that just rubs me the wrong way, and seems to elate Callum. "Maybe." I pout.

But feeling guilty, I look back in time to see his _4 _fade away into darkness. My eyebrows raise and Serpine simply nods. His district partner is next - I can't remember her name because she's pretty forgettable like a wallflower - and she claims a _5 _for herself, which is pretty cool. I could do with that.

"Um..." Oxford mumbles, journal in his hands. "Oreo?"

Sunny narrows her eyes. "Orion," I pout. "I have a nice name too. It's not even hard to remember."

"Sorry," he whispers. "Just... what did you do in training again?"

"Don't you mean the private sessions?" I question. Oxford is so scatterbrained. I mean, it's not hard to remember the littlest of things. Serpine might not voice her annoyance, but I might. When he nods, I shrug. "Simple things. You said to showcase my talent, so I did."

"Is it annoyance?" Sunny adds.

"I spoke to them," I rectify. "And I played with a club a bit. I felt like a caveman, kinda like that District Four guy that stares creepily at everyone," I pause when I notice the picture change into me. "Oh oh, quiet!"

I admire myself for a few moments before my number appears, a _3 _dancing in crimson. I blanche a little at that. Serpine cracks a subtle smirk, but I know she's wishing me dead anyway, but that's because she's stupid.

"You aren't going to do much better." I fold my arms, mood falling apart.

Serpine, though, pulls higher with a _5_, and proudly looks at me. "Two higher. That's technically better."

I stick my tongue out and turn away, facing the screen again. Serpine doesn't know anything. She's a cliche if anything, all badass and cold, but no doubt has a warm heart underneath. She doesn't know how to entertain or even show charisma.

District Eleven is a split surprise. Deacon pulls a _7_, higher than most tributes besides Careers, whilst Leona only manages a_ 3_, which makes me feel even worse because her betting odds for surviving the bloodbath are horrendous.

And then Callum appears. I won't look away for him though. Callum is really nice, and for some reason, I feel the need to impress him. He'd be the older brother if my parents had someone. The one I want to be like, but want them to like me for me. Callum's _5 _makes me clap obnoxiously, mainly aimed in Serpine's face. His district partner manages a _6_, and the television dies down.

But I haven't stopped clapping for Callum, making it known.

"You do know that makes you the weak link in your alliance, don't you?" Serpine deadpans as she stands up.

It hits me swiftly and the clapping stops. "Oh." I mumble, knowing she's right but also not wanting to give her the satisfaction. "Yeah, well, at least I have allies!" I shoot back, before rushing to my bedroom.

When Oxford knocks on my door later, I ignore his pleas, crying softly against the pillow, knowing that I'm probably going to die, and that everyone will only remember my death, and none of the wonderful things I've done.

* * *

**Alyssum Harper, District Nine Female.**

* * *

I did everything absolutely right.

So, why was my score not that good? I sit in the darkness of my room and think, replaying the moments over and over again, desperately trying to work out what I actually did wrong to deserve such a mediocre score. I had an advantage, and that's why I stuck with the poisons, leaves, berries and survival kit. I had it all planned.

It was bulletproof, so to speak. It should've earned me at least a six, if not a seven. And best of all, no-one was able to steal from me because no-one knew I was around. I blended well, like I wanted. I didn't stand-out and I didn't paint a target on my back.

But the five makes me forgettable too much.

With no solution, I leave my bedroom and head into the main room. Topher is asleep on the couch, mouth open and arms crossed.

"He's useless." I mumble, turning the faucet.

"He's been worked a lot," I almost jump at the sound of Keran, standing there with fuzzy eyes. Oh, his score was worse than mine... I frown, turning to him. "Oh," he mumbles, scrubbing his eyes. "I was asleep."

"You don't have to justify yourself," I offer a kind smile. Keran is nice, if not a little ridiculous. He has these morals that are a little hard to swallow when you hear about them. "I was just thinking about how useful him and Nicolet were."

"Nicolet isn't even here."

"Precisely," I groan, filling the glass when I know the water is cold. "And all Topher could say was, 'It's okay. Nothing important', as if that'll soften the blow."

To say I'm bitter about it all is an understatement. "I guess," Keran responds, the moon causing his shadow to stretch across the floor. "He tried though."

I roll my eyes, not that Keran could see anyway, and grab some food from the pantry. "If you could call it that."

Silence soon falls. Keran shuffles his feet in that expecting way, like a child waiting to ask a question or too scared to admit he's done something wrong. Whilst me and Keran aren't close - barely even district partners with the distance we've placed between us - I do feel bad for him. He seems so lost compared to the others I've witnessed.

"Did you want something?" I ask quietly, kind, just to push the point.

I hear Keran sigh. "I don't know... two more days, I guess."

I frown. "Only really one. The second day is the arena," I frown even harder now, the realisation hitting me. Compared to most, being on my own provides better advantages but more so disadvantages. At least I won't have to lose someone I actually care about. Then I hear Keran sniff. "I'm sorry if I've ups-"

"No," he laughs breathlessly. "I don't know. I'm an emotional mess at the moment... and I don't think you're suppose to help yourself to everything when no-one is around..."

"Bit too late for high morals. No-one is going to be thinking about rules in there, you know."

"There should at least be a sys-"

"Nope." I pop the last letter as I step around. "Those Careers will come for you in seconds. Then what will you do?"

"Defend."

"Sometimes, you have to attack," I whisper, the words cutting deep into me. I'm playing offensive too much. I'm planning too far ahead. "Thanks for the chat, Keran."

"You're welcome?"

I walk down the hallway, body sinking into my feet, weighing me down. "And don't tell Topher that I ate any food!"

Keran... he's shed some light on the matter though. Entertainment and system don't belong in the same sentence, let alone the Hunger Games. If I want to do well, I'll need to lose the whole basis of my structures. I need to be wild and reckless, even liked.

I eat the food and water quickly, ignoring the pang in my stomach from the fear. I tuck myself in the bed and bury myself under the blankets, willing away the sudden urge to cry.

I... I don't want to die...

* * *

**Deacon Fleet, District Eleven Male.**

* * *

"Time to get up!"

I shoot up, eyes burning from the lack of sleep. I blink away the dust, noticing Kane standing there, a proud smile on his face. "What the hell..." I groan, limbs aching.

"We have a lot to prepare for this morning and afternoon. I need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed." he answers, still too proud of his actions.

"That should've been illegal," I tease, cracking my knuckles. "Let's not try it again."

His smile falters a little. He's careful with that though, mainly because Leona is far too fragile to hear those words. The words that reminds us that, after tonight, we're leaving the safety of the Capitol and entering someone designed to destory the weak, and make the strong shine. For Leona, that's a hard pill to swallow.

For me? My seven makes me a target I suppose. Besides me and that August Dreygon boy, no-one else got near the Careers. They're being tougher now... and it's not helping those of us who aren't as charismatic or strong as me.

When Kane leaves, I shower and change, revelling in the cleanliness that District Eleven never provided me. It's the only thing I really hated about it. Besides that, my life was comfortable... and I might never have the simplicity again.

"Morning," I grin, entering the main room. Leona looks up, softly smiling. "I have a suggestion, if you don't mind."

Gypsy nods curtly. "Which is what?"

"Your tone..." Kane warns with a smirk, so Gypsy adds a smile on the end.

"I want to be trained with Leona," I say proudly, gaining different reactions. Leona flushes. Kane laughs obnoxiously loud. Gypsy's face bursts into red. "It's useful, you know? Me and Leona can learn off each other."

"Out of the question." Gypsy is quick to respond.

"But..."

"Gypsy..."

"No," she stands her ground, eyes softening but jaw clenched like some furious animal. "It's too risky and reckless to be trained together. As mean as this sounds Leona - and I don't mean it that way - but you have a greater chance, and this could help push those final sponsors into handing over their wallets."

"I don't care." I smile, still refusing the pulled-out seat for me. "It's a matter of principal. We're district partners whether we both die or not. I want to show unity."

Truth is, I feel the need to protect Leona. She reminds me of many girls, but particularly the ones that have brought up that starvation is the norm, and that they shouldn't strive for a better life. And I helped get her an alliance. Doesn't that say something about my skills?

Kane raises an eyebrow. "Great speech. And I totally give my permission as Leona's mentor to allow that to happen. But it's up to Gypsy now..."

Gypsy's face doesn't lose colour as she bites her lip, or mumbles a few numbers to herself to control those anger issues we all know she barely controls. "Fine," she answers quietly and I almost cheer, desperate to see the priceless smile on Leona's face, but knowing it's better saved for later. "But I don't want you to ruin it at all. Keep it together at the very least."

"Um..."

I turn to Leona and my smile falls. She's not smiling. Why isn't she smiling? My eyes widen and my heart pumps a little faster. "Leona?"

She swallows thickly, eyes darting around the room. "I... I don't want help... I-I don't want Deacon w-with me..."

Kane scoffs, obviously amused. Gypsy even looks mildly appreciate of Leona's rejection, which feels like a spike of ice piercing my heart. I've never taken rejection well... "Why?" I ask quietly, closing in on myself, the burning sensation hot on my cheeks.

She doesn't answer, only dropping her eyes to the table.

"Well I think it's obvious," Kane stands, cutting the silence. "Leona, will you come with me? We'll do interview strategy. Deacon, you're up for etiquette, if you can manage that." he jokes, but I don't have the will to laugh back.

I fall into my seat. Gypsy moves her cutlery, until she places them down loudly. "Being alone isn't bad, you know," she challenges. "It's a positive if anything. You can focus on yourself."

Alone. Even that stings. Leona wants nothing to do with me anymore, and Blair has refused and mocked me more than once. Why do I even bother?...

...because I don't like being alone.

* * *

**Demara Chass, District Five Female.**

* * *

"Get changed behind there please." my stylist, Nimoe, commands.

Obeying orders, I step behind the shower curtain and peel my clothing off, feeling the chill air bite at my skin. I shiver, raking my eyes over my body, searching for the loss blemishes. But they're no longer there for comfort or to stare at anymore. All those little scars and pot marks from living a poor life have vanished, taking away an identity that was already a lie and truth, all rolled into one.

When Nimoe mentions something, I head back out, ignoring her lingering stare at her work. I'm left with no hair or scars. It's like someone has ripped me of my identity even further.

"You never did answer my questions from last time." Nimoe talks as she runs the water through my hair.

My stomach twists. "We ran out of time, remember?" I play it coyly.

Her shiny teeth make me itch. "Well tell me now! I'm dying to know about that awful skin routine you managed before!"

"I-" I stop, the lingering urge to lie oh so clear. "My maids got me the wrong cream one day, and it scarred me," I tell falsely, repeating in my head that it's okay to lie, because I'll never see Nimoe again at the very least. "I fired them, of course."

"You had maids back in District Five? That's almost barbaric. We really need to get the Avox regime out there into the districts too..." she answers mindlessly, barely drinking in my words.

"Completely." I force a smile when she stares at me through the mirror. "What?"

"You don't seem your usual witty self today," she frowns. "Is something bothering you?"

Oh, besides the possibility of death, the fear of unknown and all the words and things I can never complete? "I'm absolutely peachy. Just feel a little nervous about later," I reply. "I've never been interviewed before. I barely know how to act."

"But you have that extensive background behind you to back you up!" she grins. "You'll be fine. Your etiquette is natural compared to most of these inhumans you're being sent in with."

"Thank you, Nimoe." I smile, touching her hand briefly.

She carries on with her pointless tasks, trying to perfect what she done only a few days ago. I zone out of her conversation, thinking briefly of Oker, and then of the family that I never really got to make peace with, the many things I have to say to my long-lost brothers.

"Your ally is nice."

I perk up at that. "Oh... Oker?"

Nimoe nods hurriedly, blushing. "He's rather handsome."

"I guess," I reply, feeling my cheeks warm. I've never really saw him like that before. He's always been... Oker... the boy who tries to be everything. "He's more than looks though."

"I'm sure he is. I'm sure there's many talents to him." she winks, and I feel a little sick, considering the huge age difference that is probably between them.

I'd say Oker's too nice for her, but he's also too nice for me...

That's the problem. The more and more I want to use Oker for what I can, the more and more I feel evil or disgusting. He does those silly little things that make my heart flutter in a surprising way, when I want him not to, so the end will justify my actions.

Nimoe finishes up and I snap back in, just in time to change into her outfit.

When I realise that the dress is blood red and curved in the right places, it only makes me feel worse.

It's all about survival of the fittest. And as horrible as it sounds, nice people like Oker just don't survive.

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ sinkorswim hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Thoughts on the scores, and stand out score?_**

**_Stand out POVs?_**

**_Pick five tributes you want to survive the bloodbath and why?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**The blog has been updated with scores and allies. We're literally one chapter away from killing some of these lovely tributes.**

**I've tried to make the scores as realistic as possible, but since you don't get to see twenty-four different sessions, you won't understand the full reason behind each of them. I've carefully thought it all out. And, in my opinion, it's more than just skills that factor into a score. You just have to be memorable in some way. Use what you know, in the immortal words of Satchel Taupe.**

**And the poll is up! I did mess up admittedly. It should've have been six, because everyone has gained a ton of votes... but it makes it more intense, you know? Yeah, you know. Either way, Blair is our winner, with Cera close behind!**

**One more to go ;o**


	7. Wake Me Up

**Wake Me Up by Avicii.**

* * *

**Wake Me Up.**

_So wake me up when it's all over. When I'm wiser, and I'm older._

* * *

**Leona Verbena, District Eleven Female.**

* * *

The stylist fixes my hair up into the bun, humming a soft tune under her breath. "You look lovely," she mutters abruptly, stepping back. "I've never seen someone so beautiful."

I blush. "Thank you, Sinata. It's mainly because of you."

"No dear, it's all you. I'm simply adding the extras," she replies, placing her hands together. "I heard about you declining the opportunity to be with your district partner, you know," I swallow thickly, the dress suffocating me all of a sudden. "Can I ask why?"

"I'd rather not say."

Deacon was probably really upset about it. Considering he has no allies, I'm the only person he can talk to without worrying of being attacked or shunned. But I rejected him because this friendship has gone too far. I want to win, and I don't want to end up against Deacon in the arena. Cutting it now seemed appropriate.

"Fair enough," she nods. "I won't pry. I'm simply an old woman who hopes you tear that interviewer a new one." she laughs, and I end up chuckling, feeling comfortable around her. Sinata reminds me of the old lady that lived near me, always cracking jokes and offering whatever food she had leftover. Once, she made me lunch to take to work.

Sinata falls into a gentle conversation about her life. I listen eagerly, politely, using the words to forget about what will happen tomorrow. Each thought only sends me stomach into a knot, clenching around my gut until I feel dizzy and sick.

Then, the bell chimes on the wall. Sinata rises, patting down her silver outfit. "Good luck, dear."

"Thank you." I need it.

Outside the room, Avoxes lead me down towards the stage, where the soft music grows more rampant as the time draws near. My heart speeds up as Clio and Faele come into view, chatting quietly in the corner of backstage.

"Hey," Clio smiles, gesturing me to join them. I swallow the nerves and force a smile as I join them. "You look great. Honestly. The soft pink really compliments your skin tone."

I blush again. I'm not used to anyone complimenting me. At home, I'm always covered in dirt and grime, sweaty and greasy from working. It's... nice. "So do you. And you, Faele."

Faele flashes a smile then turns the opposite direction. Clio sighs. "Ignore her. She's only fretting about the steps and the pressure."

I can relate. "...where's Beatrix?"

Our final ally is nowhere to be seen. Clio shrugs. "I haven't seen her. Maybe she's not ready?"

I swallow thickly. Beatrix not being here is unusual. I mean, we're all unusual, but it's even worse for her. She's one of the first every time. I'm the late one on most occasions. Then, Faele speaks. "She's over there."

Over her shoulder, I notice Beatrix against the steps, looking down at the ground. Her navy blue dress hangs loose on her shoulders, and every now and then, she pulls it up.

"She obviously wants to be left alone." Clio mutters sadly. "No matter. It's not like we need to be together for the interviews. I just thought it'd boost our spirits."

If anything, it makes me more nervous. I gained the lowest score out of us all. If I mess this interview up, I've basically condemned this alliance into smithereens. It's not looking good. But then again, staring into Clio's eyes, I can see the twinkle isn't so bright anymore.

My heart doesn't slow down, even picking up as Hermes Abbatone mounts the stage.

I guess everyone is scared. Even the optimistic ones look down in nerves. The reality is finally setting in. From here on out, someone in this room is your murderer, or your future victim. Oh no. Oh no... one more day... I'm... I'm going to die...

My vision turns black and the world pitches to the side.

* * *

**Jezabel Gremory, District Two Female.**

* * *

The muted thud behind me seems to draw in a lot of attention, but I ignore it completely. Sable even makes a point of jabbing his finger in the direction, as if that'll make it all the more interesting.

Truth is, I don't want to be distracted. I want to be focused. I want to go out there and slay the competition, letting them know that this beautiful bombshell is more than looks.

"Luxe Wylde, District One."

Luxe storms pass me, her jaw set tight. Her blood red dress follows her up the steps. "Break a leg!" I shout, the meaning completely true. Wouldn't it be hilarious? Not all publicity is good publicity. And right now, with even scores, I need Luxe to slip up more and more.

I study her interview, ignoring Sable talk to Cera about paintings once more, and Alvar standing awkwardly at the side like the wallflower he is.

Nothing seems to faze her. Hermes makes cruel jokes - one about her roots, which I applaud silently in my mind because they are hideous - and even challenges her personality. Instead, he gets one words as responses, or a simple nod or glare. But then he brings up the fact that she was adopted by the late Augustus Kingston, and her murderous bitch switch is turned on.

"I wonder how much botox you've had, Hermes," she spits, standing up. "How about I cut back the layers and see how much fat you've been hiding from us all?!"

Then she storms from stage and returns to the elevator. She doesn't even bother to acknowledge me, which is a disappointment. I wanted to congratulate her on confirming everyone's belief that she's utterly insane, and not in the quirky way like Terror Toddler.

"Camillo Creed, District One."

Camillo is everything I expected. He's slimy, smooth, slick and sophisticated, answering questions with more questions, piling it on thick until Hermes no longer has a direct path to destroy him. When he leaves the stage, he stops by me. "Did you enjoy that?" he asks, a certain edge to his voice.

"It was reasonable," I avoid directly congratulating him. Don't want that confidence to turn to cocky just yet. "You laid the act on a little thick though," I turn. "Anyone could tell you think you're better than everyone."

Alone, with Camillo, there's no point in lying. I know his game, his type. I've seen them come and die in this very place many, many, many times before. But Camillo feigns innocence. "Oh. Well, I don't," he frowns. "I'd hate for people to think that."

"Jezabel Gremory, District Two." someone calls.

I shrug, stepping around him. "Oh well."

As I saunter up the steps with my hands on my lips, the lights grow brighter, the noise growing louder. It's a little breathtaking, if I'm honest. I steady my breathing and grin from ear to ear as I walk out onto the stage.

Hermes instantly smirks. "I've been waiting for you all day, you know."

"I do the same, but then I look in the mirror and realise I have the best company," I tease, causing the audience to erupt in laughter. "I'm only messing!" I laugh. "I've waited for this interview with you since I volunteered."

"I'd blush if my cheeks would move." he plays.

We fall into a healthy discussion that revolves around me, and I love it. I answer each question honestly and politely, smiling and waving at members of the audience. Hermes calls me perfect. I call him Husband No. 5.

The audience quietens when Hermes places a finger to his lips. "Now, let's face it. No-one expected you to be a fighter. I mean, that 10? It's almost iconic."

"Well, I did match my wonderful ally Luxe, so not that much," I play. "But thank you. People always stereotype me far too soon. I have many layers."

"Layers I'd like to see!"

"Layers I'd let you get under eventually, if you're lucky." I wink, and the crowd eat it up like the desperate Capitolites with wallets in their hands like I expected.

But he's true. No-one expects me to be cunning. I am, though. I'm beautiful, smart, and ruthless. I'm proud to admit it all. Who wouldn't if they were like me?

I flutter my eyelashes, realising that my interview has way passed the limit, Hermes tapping a small button on the side of his chair. "I just want to prove to everyone that you can be everything, all wrapped up in a perfect, little, glossy package like me."

The timer goes. Hermes stands, raising my hand in the air. "Panem, your newest Victor!"

Oh, he couldn't have hit that nail any harder on the head.

* * *

**Oker Horvath, District Six Male.**

* * *

Demara's interview doesn't stand out amongst the others. I frown, watching her descend the steps. She looks down-trodden. Everything she tried to say, Hermes threw it back in her face.

"You okay?" I ask when she nears, dress wrapped in her hands.

"Fine," she answers quietly. "He's just... so rude. It's like Ellery had a twin and it turned out to be even worse."

"At least you didn't have the worst one. I mean, that District Two guy basically told everyone he was out to maim and slaughter the entire roster this year." I shiver, remembering how he said he'd kill in graphic detail. I definitely don't want to run into him.

Demara's district partner does okay, but he's easily swallowed by Hermes' insults. When he steps back down, his eyes are watery and huge, adding to the innocence. And then Faele makes her way up there, and my body tenses under fear for her.

"Hey Fail," he taunts as she takes her seat. "I heard that your ally just fainted? I can't wait to meet her."

Faele doesn't respond. With huge eyes and gripping the chair, she allows Hermes to bombard her with insult after insult - many personal - and only answering serious questions. My heart goes out to her. Whilst we have little to no relationship, it's horrible to see genuinely nice people be taunted for entertainment value. There's no need for it.

"I guess we can say that you'll die quickly, right?"

Faele's buzzer goes off before she can answer thankfully. She steps down quietly, lips pressed into a line. Demara politely steps away as Faele approaches. "I'm sorry about that." I whisper.

She shrugs. "I don't care. It didn't faze me really."

It's a total lie, but not something I'll press her for. Instead, her ally Clio is there within a shot, protectively wrapping her arms around Faele's shoulders and pull her to the side. I watch with heavy breaths, before my name is suddenly called.

The screaming doesn't stop, even after I take my seat. I smile politely, but it's Hermes that makes my gut twist with rage. I control it, though. He just won't know what'll hit him.

"Oker, are you okay?"

"Not particularly." I cut him off, sending the crowd into silence. Hermes flusters a little, but gains that strong, biting composure he'd had all night. "Do you enjoy upsetting people?"

Hermes smirks. "I like to think of it more as a hobby. Besides, people shouldn't be so touchy."

I shake my head in disagreement. "That's because your head is so far up your own ass, you can't see the reality that people are scared of dying."

The crowd murmurs. Hermes' eyes widen in disgust. "Oh, and you aren't scared?"

"I'm terrified," I admit proudly. "But I'm not going to let some pompous, aging man make me feel inferior. You're just the interviewer. For the rest of the year after the Hunger Games are over, nobody really cares about you."

"Nobody cares about you either. Did you know you're second from the bottom on odds?" he hisses, eyes trying to burn a hole through my skull. I won't let him have the satisfaction of beating me.

I shrug nonchalantly. "It's not like they matter. There are such things as the black horse of the competition, or even the underdog. It's not all about being the best there is."

"Which you certainly cannot do." he smirks, triumphant.

"Never said I was trying," I cross my arms. "I'm just going to try my best and see what happens. But you? You're too big for your own boots, Hermit."

In a twisted sense, I feel like I've just gained Demara and Faele's dignity back with this. It fills me with pride, heart swelling in my chest until my back is straightened. Hermes narrows his eyes. "I can see we're finished here. Want to leave the stage?"

I rise abruptly. "It'd be my pleasure."

With that, I jog down the steps, ripping the lavender tie from around my neck. Demara is nowhere to be seen, but Faele is looking at me from across the room, eyes shimmering. I nod with a smile. She only looks away, though. Wow. Girls really don't like having a hero apparently.

Alone, I head to the elevator, gut scrunched up in a tight knot. I am terrified. Everything I've ever known will change by tomorrow morning.

* * *

**Clio Dimity, District Eight Female.**

* * *

"Clio Dimity, District Eight."

I turn to Leona and Faele, smiling brightly. "Just look what I do. I'll handle that sexist pig with words, not anger. It's where your district partner went wrong," I direct at Faele, who nods in agreement; he was too passive aggressive. You don't win with that. "Okay, wish me luck."

They both do so as I turn, making sure to pull the elastic looser on my dress. At this point, I hate my stylist. I keep telling her that I don't appreciate being strapped and pruned until I look like her version of "feminine". I just feel like a walking pair of boobs.

The lights die down when I make my across the stage, the cheering audience taking the breath from my lungs. I stutter to smile, waving awkwardly at the amount of people that cheer my name, calling and screaming at how much they adore me. They don't me properly, but the sentiment sends my chest in a bounty of butterflies.

Hermes offers to help me in the seat, but I coldly refuse his hand. "I don't need help to sit down."

He frowns. "Have I upset you already? Usually it takes me a moment to piss you all off."

Oh, I did it again. I smile softly, not wanting to push him further. He might be a brute, but he only tends to react, not act. "I'm sorry. Bad habit of mine."

"What, your extreme feminism?"

I narrow my eyes. Damn. "Well that was rude. I wouldn't say feminism. I just happen to be independent an-"

"You're an independent, strong, single woman who don't need no man," he sniggers, smiling wickedly after. "Am I getting warmer?"

I place my hands in my lap and adjust the dress slightly. "I don-"

"Oh wait. The reason you don't need a man is because you don't like them. You loathe them so much you switched teams, am I right?"

My breath hitches in my throat. I shouldn't be surprised he knows, but I am surprised by how low he's stooping to get a rise out of me. Piss me off? He's just an annoying itch that I can't scratch. But I know Leona and Faele are watching, and for them, I need to cool it a little and show them there is nothing to be afraid of. "I am a lesbian, yes, but I don't loathe men at all."

He smirks, causing my chest to heave violently. "Yet your entire alliance is made of females. Is there a reason for that?"

He's twisting everything! I take a deep breath, composing myself. "It just so-"

"You've become the advocate for man-hating, haven't you? Twisting their minds? It'd make sense. I mean, I have perfect information here that mentions how Leona Verbena rejected her district partner's help. Did you poison her mind, Clio?" he asks, showing me the stack of papers by his chair.

The entire audience is silent. All I can hear is the blood pounding in my ears, drowning out the sound of my heartbeat that continues to speed up. He's discrediting me. None of it is true. Not a single word. I snap my head towards backstage, Faele and Leona now looking visibly uncomfortable. They can't believe him surely?

When I don't answer quick enough, though, Hermes leans forward. "So you're a lesbian of Asian-descent from a poor district who loathes men, and wants the entire female population to hate them too. I think we have you covered now."

I grit my teeth. "Don't!" I warn, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "Don't you dare bring that up. It is none of your business about my life."

Hermes claps suddenly. "Oh, but it is. You have a girlfriend, right? I wonder what she thinks of you parading yourself around with a bunch of other young, average-looking, available women that will hate men eventually too?"

The life drains from my body. It's as if ice is pumping through my veins instead of blood.

"I bet you were bullied a lot."

"...stop it." I whisper.

"Did people torment you for having different colour skin, or preferring your vegetables to your meat?"

The buzzer goes, but I'm too shell-shocked to move, eyes misting up with tears. Hermes snaps his fingers a few times but I barely hear them, emotionally drained. The audience is no longer clapping. When I turn to the side, Faele and Leona stare back, eyes confused and hurt.

I promised to do well for them, but I can't even do well for myself.

* * *

**Keran Farley, District Nine Male.**

* * *

Everyone falls silent as Clio Dimity exits the stage. She looks around, meeting everyone's eyes, before walking to the elevator with her head held high. Just like that, Hermes made her one of the biggest targets, showing everyone her weaknesses.

"That was mean." Orion frowns.

"It's life," Callum answers just as sad. "He'll use anything to break you. And a night before the arena? Everyone is going to remember it."

I don't know what to say when they both turn to me. Maybe they expect a lecture? Truthfully, though, I have none. I feel bad for the girl, but not enough to justify Hermes Abbatone's actions. It's given us an advantage of some sort, which is what we need.

The next interview goes smoothly. Satchel Taupe is a Capitol favourite, so Hermes doesn't tear into him as much, opting for pointing out his inaccuracy to be anything but a one-hit-wonder.

Alyssum passes us and Orion giggles. "What?" Callum asks.

"Her dress is stuck in her underwear," Orion smirks. My eyes widen and, when I turn, Alyssum is already gone. I swallow thickly. "Oh well. She'll be laughed at then."

"Wow. You could've told her, Orion." Callum frowns. "Here, lemme shove your shirt in your underwear, see if anyone'll tell you."

Orion blinks. "It... it is in my underwear?"

Callum deadpans and I stifle a laugh, looking away from the shorter boy who doesn't understand. It's surprising how open we all are. I truly thought that the pressure would've swallowed their personalities, but instead, we're coping. Tomorrow, we can stress. For now, we need to just... think.

Alyssum runs pass me with her head in her hands, crying, when my name is called. My stomach does a little flip as I climb the steps, heading across the stage in the best manner possible.

When I take my seat, Hermes doesn't say anything for a moment, just studying my face. I begin to panic and bring my fingers to my chin. "Is something on my face?"

"I'm just... I'm trying to work my angle for you, Keran." he answers.

I swallow. "Angle?"

"I just don't understand it. You're a goody two-shoes, am I right?"

I shrug. "A little, I guess. I just like order, I suppose. What's the point in rules if people don't live by them?"

"And you think the rules of the Hunger Games should be abided by, even considering you were reaped?" he challenges with a devilish grin.

I know where he's heading with this. He wants me to agree so that I end up making enemies and painting a huge target on my back. But I won't let him have that. "I don't agree with the Hunger Games, no."

"So you'd rebel if you had the chance, given that rules should always be abided by, correct?"

All of the words die on my tongue. I stutter, looking around helplessly for an answer. There is none. There was no right way to approach that subject. He... he tricked me. "I-" I pause, collecting the scattered thoughts. "I'd stick to my morals..." I say slowly, fear pulsating through my veins. "So... if I had to rebel... I would. Without question."

The crowd murmurs in response. Hermes, on the other hand, looks satisfied. "I guess we haven't got much else to say. I hope you do well, Keran, I really, really do."

I rise and leave the stage as quickly as I came, ignoring the buzzer completely, even though it nips at my brain for not waiting the entire segment. Orion and Callum seem to take my return as a worry. "You okay?" Callum asks kindly.

Orion, on the other hand, smiles wider. "You did really, really good Keran, but I'm going to do better."

I'm sure everyone will, with the interview and the Hunger Games.

* * *

**North Merrean, District Seven Female.**

* * *

"That was quite something else."

I spin around on the couch as August exits the elevator, his black suit sharp against his pale skin. "What was?"

August stops by the kitchen sink and pulls a glass out from the cabinet. "Hermes Abbatone and his sadistic ways. It got more fun after you left."

"Oh, really?" I don't know whether to take that personally or not. "Care to explain?" I pat the seat next to me far too eagerly, and have to bite on my lip to calm myself down. _He's just a boy, North._

But... he's August, and whilst I can't explain the infatuation or why it ever appeared, I do know that being around him makes me feel good about myself, something I've rarely felt over the years.

August falls into the seat with a sigh. We seem to always end up on this couch, together, without mentors... "District Eight was alright, but the girl basically fell into his trap. District Nine ended up with the pair being flabbergasted and leaving the stage in a right frozen state. District Ten's boy... well, he won't be so cocksure tomorrow."

I bite down harder on my lip. Mine doesn't seem so bad in comparison anymore. "What about Leona Verbena?"

"The girl who fainted? She had a pretty average interview, though Hermes pointed out her anxiety really well," August chuckles dryly. "It practically radiates off of her."

I nod along. "I feel bad for her." I admit.

August shrugs. "I would understand why, but you can't really think like that, North. She's technically your enemy," he turns in his seat sharply, eyes bright against the darkness of the room. "She might not even make it through the bloodbath."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "I didn't say I did know her... I just felt bad, is all. She looked really ill when she woke back up."

"Understandable. I pity the little ones, if that makes you feel better."

"What, Satchel and Bennett?"

He laughs dryly again. "Do you know everyone by their first names?"

I blush furiously. I don't forget names easily. I always remembered the girls who gave me attention before using me. I had it all written out on a piece of paper, hopeful for my future friends that never happened. The moment August was reaped alongside me, I had his name stored away. "It's a habit of mine." I answer quietly, avoiding his crystal eyes.

"It's nice, you know. Shows integrity. I only know you and Cyril."

My heart skips a beat. "Speaking of Cyril, did he stay until the end with you?" I change conversation quickly, hoping to avoid the talk where August might woo me some more.

"He did," he confirms, and when I look back, August is forced on the skyline. "Cyril is incredibly smart. We discussed a variety of strategies, and the best methods to execute said strategies."

Why wasn't I there then? Why did August tell me to go upstairs and went for him? My body deflates. It's starting to feel more like a two-man alliance, and less like the threesome I had imagined in my head.

My cheeks burn. _You're an idiot!_

"North?"

I can't control my face from growing beet red, heat flaming against my cheeks, forehead, even my damn chin. I rise quickly, unable to look him directly in the eye after what my mind just created accidentally. "I... I, um, I just need some w-water and sleep..." I stutter, tongue suddenly limp. "Goodnight, August..."

I forget the water as I rush out of the room, flustered and annoyed at myself.

I need to get my act together. I haven't even thought about the arena and it's so incredibly stupid not to. I mean, it's tomorrow and I haven't addressed my nerves or feelings. I've pushed it all to the back of my mind in the hopes that this is all just a dream.

It's not though. Deep in my stomach, I know I'm scared, but I can't bring myself to face it just yet. But it's there, I know it, niggling at the bottom of my stomach, writhing through masses of hormones, turning every thought about the arena or the flawed alliance into something that makes me a total, hormonal mess.

I'd rather face August after an indecent thought about him than face the arena tomorrow, and that's saying something.

* * *

**Cyril Faraday, District Three Male.**

* * *

"What time is departure?" I ask Micro when he enters, almost shocked that I've beat him here.

He stutters a little, but checks the clock. "You have an hour. You shouldn't even be up yet, Cyril."

I guess my nerves got the better of me. I was up way before dawn, my body restless and heavy. I stayed in bed before showering twice and then leaving to sit out here, the thoughts crossing my mind haphazardly. It's stressing me out. I just can't work through it this time. Every time I try and decipher what the books were hinting at, my mind just goes blank.

I would talk to Micro, but as much as I appreciate him, this is something I need to do myself.

"Don't forget the things that I need," I mention as I take a bite of the toast. I swallow it quickly, before taking another. "It's all rather important."

Micro nods. "I understand. I don't know why you want it all, but sure, I'll get it to you as soon as the money comes in. As of now, it's all tied up. I won't know the final tally until the counter goes down, when I'm in the control room with the other mentors."

I shake my head. "They mustn't find out."

"What do you have planned, Cyril?" he narrows his eyes, which I personally take offence to. Aren't I allowed a strategy?

"I feel like if I say it now, I'll ruin the opportunity behind it. It's just very, very important. It could be the factor between life and death for me." I answer shortly, hearing plates clatter in the distance. Blair is soon coming into the room, purple bags under her eyes.

I shrink away as she sits next to me. Whilst I feel comfortable with Blair than I even do with North, there's a certain aura around her today that tells me she wants to be left alone.

"Did you sleep well?" Micro asks. Blair grunts some incoherent, before grabbing an apple and abruptly leaving as quick as she came. "What did I do?"

I swallow the next piece of toast, pushing down the fear in my stomach. "I believe she mentioned a double-standard or something."

Pixel doesn't join us for breakfast. She stays away until the last minute, when I step into the elevator. Blair also reappears, standing beside me. "Would you like us to come with you?" Micro asks for what must be the umpteenth time.

Blair doesn't answer, looking away, so I step up. "It's not needed. I know the procedure already. But thank you both for helping us out as much as you. Micro, if you could keep that thought at the front of your brain, I'd appreciate it." I smile kindly, just as the doors closed.

After a while, Blair coughs. "What thought?"

I'm torn between telling her or keeping it a secret. "Nothing," I decide better.

"Is it the special equipment you've purchased beforehand?" she then mentions.

I blink a few times, feeling the tension fill the air. Beforehand, it would've been okay. We were simply district partners to the end. This morning has changed everything. We're technically enemies now. If I tell her, I lose an advantage.

"No," I lie. "It's just about sponsoring. I asked him to split whatever I earn between us. That way, at least District Three has a better shot at a Victor, whether it's me or you."

I barely detect Blair's eyes glimmering. "Admirable of you."

She doesn't believe me. But it's not like I need her stamp of approval, I just need the secrecy. The doors open, and Blair is gone like the wind, swiftly crossing the rooftop. I stand around for a few moments before heading to the opposite hovercraft Blair ran to, passing by the tributes that are now officially competition to live.

I see August first. I cross the pebbles and stand by his side. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need too. We both know our group strategy.

He just doesn't know my own personal strategy.

* * *

**Callum Reeves, District Twelve Male.**

* * *

Keran waves goodbye as he crosses the rooftop. Orion doesn't look too impressed, a twisted smile on his face.

"What?" I ask, narrowing my arms. "Are you trying to set him alight with your mind or something?"

Orion laughs. "Hardly," he shrugs. "I just don't get him, is all. It feels like he's attention-seeking all the time. Did you know he's moaning about the line not being in numerical order?"

The hypocrisy in his words. "Yeah, but that's Keran. You can't change him. You should sit up and shut up." I tease, Orion's jaw dropping.

The queue begins to move. Luxe Wylde is first, followed by others. Being right at the back, I note down who is in which hovercraft, just in case it's important later. I doubt it will be, but you can never be safe. Living with tricksters for family members have taught me well. I let Orion step up first, and then follow him in to the two last seats.

"These are comfy." he smiles, snuggling into the leather.

"I don't see the appeal. And you do know that your livestock made this, right?" I raise an eyebrow. Sometimes, I do question Orion's legitimate innocence. It seems forced at times.

Orion shoves his hand in my face and tuts. "Don't say that. I know this girl in my area that owned a cow. Didn't realise that she was eating her pet not a day later."

We don't even get meat in Twelve, only on special days. If we're lucky and my Aunt got a decent wage, we'd have goose. But it was always too fatty and greasy, it was disgusting. The food is probably the only thing I'll miss from the Capitol. Oh, and the bed. That bed was brilliant.

"Arm please." the attendant commands from Orion.

I watch him wince as the needle enters his arm, and the little blue tracker bleeps up his arm. "Please tell me it's not in my blood." he mutters.

I don't know the answer, but I wish I did, just so I could tease him with the idea. It's one of the few things I enjoy about Orion. He's light-hearted but easily offended. It's a tricky combination to nail right. Keran is the complete opposite. Maybe that's why the pair don't get on so much as they should, being allies and everything.

The hovercraft lifts and my stomach drops, fingers clutching into Orion's arm. He whines about the pressure, but I ignore him, focused on my breathing until the plane levels out.

"You're scared of heights?" Orion scoffs. "Do you even have heights in District Twelve?"

I'm not scared of heights, just the motion. I hate it when my stomach does a somersault. It leaves me unsettled for ages, worried for the next moment of sickness.

And it brings up the fear that we're drawing closer and closer to the arena. That I'm definitely not looking forward to. But I don't want to think about it. If I think about it now, I'll be a mess come the time I need to focus.

"Callum, are-"

"Please be quiet for a moment, Orion," I frown. "I need... some peace."

He mutters something about being rude but I tune out, digging deeper into the happy memories to cling onto, something to keep me going when someone is trying to stop me. Orion manages to stay quiet for a few minutes until Faele Resquin beings to mutter about the hovercraft crashing or something.

His wide eyes snap towards me. "Do you think that's possible?"

It'd be the easier way out really. "Hardly. Ignore her. You need to get yourself together for what's about to come." I reply, trying not to sound annoyed or anything. "We'll be there soon."

"That's not really a good thing." Orion speaks quietly, turning the opposite direction.

His façade has broken. He's finally realised that he needs to be serious. It's pretty sad to think about. I can't help but frown as I turn the other way, a multitude of emotions and fears weighing me down into the seat.

* * *

**Cera Monet, District Four Female.**

* * *

Sable nudges me again, hissing under his breath. "Hey Cera!"

I smile tightly as I turn to him. "What is it, Sable?"

His lips curl into a smile. "Have you ever thought about painting with other stuff beside paint?"

My smile eases a little. "I guess so. What do you mean, like crayons and chalk, or pen- oh, oh I know what you mean," I frown, stomach churning. "That's really creepy, Sable."

The other tributes around us seem to shiver, visibly shaken. I can't help but stiffen myself actually. Sable is such a freak, all childish and naive, with dark thoughts lurking underneath those baby curls of his. "I'm sorry," he shrugs. "It was just an idea."

A really odd one, but I don't want to anger him. "Yeah, but not something you should pursue. You should just stick to painting sunsets and those... bodies... on the water that you do so well." I smile a little loose.

Sable falls quiet, staring out of the small porthole window on the opposite wall, right about Leona Verbena. Of course, she shrinks under his watch, even if he isn't looking directly at her. Sable just tends to have that on someone.

I shake my head; I need to focus more. It'll be about an hour before we enter the arena, whatever it could be.

I let my eyes slip shut, and memories of District Four begin to flood through. It's nice to think of home, even with the bad thoughts. I remember skipping training almost every other week, leaving the doors as Daddy dropped me up, and instead running up to the cliff to dive into the cool seas below. It was such a rush, feeling the sharp wind before plunging into icy waters. Even the waves were great, crashing over my head.

And then painting under the trees, carving the memories into the bark, deep and thick.

Dead or alive, they'll be a coconut tree on the small grove that says _Cera Monet, Born a Badass _- not my finest moment, but the sentiment makes my heart flutter with laughter each time.

"Something amusing?"

"Yeah," I smile, eyes still shut. It's like I can smell the salt in the air... I miss home... I shake my head, opening my eyes to Sable's beam. "Nothing important though. I, er, yeah, nothing important, dude."

I don't want to share my life with anyone, particularly Sable. He'll find some way to ruin it. My life is something that's for me only, not public knowledge.

The hovercraft begins to slow down, and Sable giggles. I ignore him as we hit the ground, my stomach doing a miniature flip as we wait. The hovercraft hatch falls open, light creeping in. One by one, we're let out, and Sable gives me a brief but tight hug before leaving on his own.

Then I go. Outside, I notice Alvar coming out the other hovercraft, hair slicked against his forehead. He turns to me and smiles tightly. I cross quickly, laughter bubbling in my stomach. "You look like a porcupine, you know. Wait, no no, a swordfish!"

"You should be more serious about this." he narrows his eyes.

I roll my eyes. "Just don't. I don't want to deal with your parental advice right now." his eyes turn cold and he grabs my elbow with a grip. I wince, looking back up at him. "What do you think you're doing?" I angrily snatch myself away.

"I'm trying to help you!"

"I didn't ask for a bodyguard!" I almost scream at him. My cheeks burn when I notice people are looking at me, but I push the awkwardness down into my chest. "I don't need help. I can handle things myself. I'm not useless, Alvar. I just want to enjoy myself before I'm forced to destroy my childhood, okay? Okay."

I don't give him time to respond. Annoyed, I storm down the hallway, ignoring my Peacekeeper.

Why does everyone think I'm useless? If it's not Alvar trying to coddle me into his plan, it's Odyessa and her rude remarks, or even Daddy with his pressure to be perfect, perfect, perfect.

I'm fine being me. Why can't people understand that?

Guess I just have to prove them all that balancing things is perfectly normal.

* * *

**Serpine Dextra, District Ten Female.**

* * *

The hovercraft hits the ground with a thud. I jerk in my seat, already pulling at the straps in an attempt to speed the process along. The attendant watches me with a disgusted eye but I glare back, snapping back the belt.

"You need to wait your turn."

I narrow my eyes as she crosses the small distance from Clio Dimity to me. "Oh I'm sorry, I have to wait until you tell me it's okay to walk into the death zone?"

"I hope you die first." she hisses, pressing a button to release the final strap I can't reach.

"Of course you do. You enjoy the sick enjoyment of it."

Without another word, I shoulder pass her, not really caring for her feelings. She's the first person I've really spoke to from the Capitol, and it's full of anger. I spoke with some degree of annoyance with Orion, and Oxford and Sunny for that matter. But a Capitol person? They're another kind of species that set my heart on my fire, and my tongue on attack mode.

I wait for the hatch to fall, being the first tribute to exit. I imagine the other tributes stare at me with confusion, but that's fine. They all need to realise that their fun and games, treating this like making new friends at school, is all pointless because that knife will cut you down before you can even say a word.

I find my name on the board and move to the Peacekeeper, who attempts to grab me by the elbow. I jerk back, looking at him or her pointedly. "I can walk myself. Just show me the way... please."

Down the hallway on the third door, he pushes it open. Sylvan is there with a stern smile on his face. "How is my pretty snake?" he grins, hands on his hips.

The door slams shut. "She is doing pretty well, all considering." I answer coolly. I guess Sylvan is the exception, though the first word to him was a curse word. I don't hate him as much as others, but that's because he's not really the enemy. He's just the stylist, clueless and pretty.

"Did you bring your loot with you?" he teases.

My body flinches at the word. "No," I answer quietly. I cough, staring at him directly in the eye. "I left it behind in the Capitol. Thought it'd be more poetic that way. Years after I'm dead, they suddenly find their missing valuables with spoilt, little notes."

Sylvan smirks. "It's a unique way to leave an impression."

It's one I've grown fond of over the years. "Yeah," I shrug. "What have you got for me then?"

His eyes suddenly light up. "I do actually have a secret to share with you, before i give you the outfit I can tell you're drooling over."

My heart skips a beat. "What is it?"

"The arena is from far from District Eleven," he nods. "I heard it from my communion."

By communion I'm sure he means a bar or something. Gossip is avid with the drunkards. I should know, they were always the easiest of targets. "So what does that mean?"

I can't stop moving. I can feel my nerves tingling in my arms and legs, even my stomach. It's not even a rush that I enjoy. It's tricky to point out. It's not exactly fear, but it's nowhere near excitement. Maybe it's because I don't know what to expect, and Sylvan's words have only encouraged them.

"It means... I'm not sure. I just thought it'd help," he frowns. "Oh well. You have a beautiful outfit though, so yay!"

I smile tightly, eyes flickering to the clock as they count down slowly, _one, one, one_. "We have very different views on the word beautiful, Sylvan. Now hurry up and get me the outfit. I'm ready to puke soon."

* * *

**Camillo Creed, District One Male.**

* * *

"What is that?" Cassius, my stylist, asks.

I sigh. "My journal," I answer, flipping the page to hide away the information. "Or my token, whichever you want to call it. I've barely spent any time with it."

I look up when I hear him sigh himself. "It's a little bulky, don't you think? I have no idea where I'm going to hide it on your outfit." he frowns.

"You don't need to. It's staying here for my return," I stand, tapping the side of my head. "I have everything important stored up here."

Over my entire time in the Capitol, I've managed to decode my allies for everything they're worth. I know their weaknesses and their strengths, their blind points and range. Even Luxe, considering I will need to get rid of her eventually if she doesn't make her own destruction.

All it took was some studying, some learning, some interacting. Then again, Jezabel handed hers over on a plate with her cat-fights against Luxe. Alvar and Cera are easy to pick up if you watch long enough. Sable was probably the most hard, but spending time with Cera pretty much highlighted his lack of mental state.

"Now, aren't you suppose to be showing me my clothes?"

Cassius flushes, rushing over to the other side of the room. He pulls the zip-lock bag and duffel off the town, placing them near me. "I think the theme is light and useless this here. You have nothing too incredible, peach."

Peach. I won't miss hearing that. "Why, what makes you believe that?"

He shoves his hand in the zip-lock, pulling out a rolled-up, black wetsuit, shiny underneath the focused light. "It's a wetsuit, and that's it. No pockets. No belt. It's just... this."

I frown. "And the shoes?"

He pulls them out, revealing the standard boots that most years wear. These ones, though, are shiny too. "These are a little different," Cassius hums, reading my thoughts. "They're waterproof, so you won't get cold feet..." then he laughs. "Sorry, but you get the point. Water is obviously involved."

I close my eyes; I remember seeing a book in that collection on the floor. It had weather, didn't it? It could be rain. A heavy downpour could easily soak through clothing, which would explain the wetsuit more. Unless there truly is a lot of water, which doesn't make me feel any better. I hate getting wet.

Under Cassius' watchful - and slightly perverted - eye, I change into the clothing. The wetsuit expands around me, before clinging tight to my bare skin. The shoes are an easy fit. I stand in the mirror and smile. "I guess this isn't so bad. I can move in them properly, which is better than nothing," I hum. "But what's that other bag for?"

"This is your necklace of sorts," Cassius frowns as he pulls forth a hefty collar made of metal. "I've no idea what it does, but they've told me you have to wear it, no questions asked."

My heart pulsates a little as I slide it on. I don't like not knowing what it does. Will it electrocute me? It seems pointless to kill someone too early... so exploding collars are out of the question...

"Stop thinking about it." Cassius encourages.

"I need to," I retaliate. "I'm going up in... ten minutes... oh wow."

For the first time, the nerves hit me. My stomach swells and swashes, my heart plummeting to the bottom of my gut.

Luxe better keep up the plan. If she goes all melodramatic and murderous, then it's all screwed. The entire plan crumbles through my fingers. No, Luxe can't mess this up for me.

I won't let her.

* * *

**Bennett Helling, District Five Male.**

* * *

My eyes flick to the clock constantly, watching the hands shift and move, narrowing down the timer until we're released upon the arena.

My family will be watching. I can only imagine their thoughts and emotions. It drives me insane to think that I might never see them again. But, I will, hopefully. I won't just lie down and allow myself to be killed. I will fight as much as I can.

"You haven't touched your food, Ben."

I look to Venra, her pink face making her looked burned. "I told you, I'm just not hungry. I feel too nervous to keep anything down at the moment."

"You might not eat for a few days though."

I swallow, ignoring the growl in my stomach. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."

She soon falls quiet. Right now, I just need peace and quiet, time to contemplate the strategy again. I'm the decoy, whilst Satchel takes as many things as he can. And then we meet up and run when we have at least two backpacks, enough for each of us. It's not solid-proof, but it's the best we can make that no-one hasn't already tried and failed at.

The collar digs into my neck and I wince, prying it away. A sharp alarm blares right down my ear, making me scream. Venra exhales loudly, jabbing at a button or two on the side. "Don't touch it," she warns, pointing to the manual on the other side of the room. "It says that being tampered with will disrupt the mechanics, and something bad will happen."

She doesn't need to finish her sentence. It's obviously that they'll kill me if I break their precious toy.

My heart hammers rhythmically against my chest, noise knocking around in my skull. I can feel the pressure on my shoulders, not to mention in my bowels. I really, really need to pee, but I'm frozen in my seat, switching my gaze from the tube to the clock on the opposite wall.

_"Two minutes until launch." _the tanoy blares.

Venra stands. "It was nice meeting you, Benny."

My gut constricts. "That sounds like a goodbye to me..." I mutter, her dark eyes landing on my stiff composure, drinking in the nerves.

She smiles sadly. "I wish it wasn't permanent either."

_"Tributes are to make their way towards the launch pad." _the tanoy blares once more.

Filled with butterflies, I pry myself from the seat and give Venra a positive thumbs-up. "It won't be permanent. I'll try my best to make sure it isn't."

It's not something I can keep, but it is something that I can try with all my will. Venra flashes another smile as I take towards the pad, stepping on the metal circle. The glass walls fall around me, momentarily taking away my breath.

Venra's face is the last thing I see before I slowly rise up into darkness.

I can hear my heartbeat clearer now, slamming against my chest. I try and steady my breathing as light appears at the top. With a final push, the oxygen escapes my body and stale air smothers my lungs.

It takes but a second to notice the other tributes, but more importantly Satchel, only four plates to my right. The dull, yellow light makes his cheeks look sunken, even from me. He turns and flashes an unsure smile, jerking his head forward.

I follow his gaze and smile. The Cornucopia is the next thing I see, the mouth facing towards me. It makes it easier. And with no Careers between me and Satchel, it holds promise. My heartbeat slows down a little, replaced with jittery nerves.

The clock comes to life, illuminating the final shadows of the room we're in.

My ears perk up; I can hear water sloshing against a wall or something. I look around the room, seeing the crates packed in the corner and the four different flights of stairs that must lead up into the rest of the arena.

I don't suddenly feel scared anymore.

The clock suddenly makes a buzz noise and starts counting down The fear piles up in my throat. The next minute will decide whether I'm ready to carry on living or not. And Satchel, for that matter. It's do or die.

_"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the One Hundred and Thirty Fifth Annual Hunger Games Begin!"_

* * *

**The blog for this story is_ sinkorswim hunger games . blogspot_ - all deaths will be notified here!**

* * *

**All deaths will be based on realism, story arcs and whether or not the submitter is reading the story. Obviously, reviews let me know this, and if said submitter chooses to not review, I have no idea if they're reading the story, and therefore, am more inclined to keep other tributes over said submitter's tribute. Each decision is painstakingly hard but must be done. Everyone knew the odds when they created a character. I would hope you stick around, but if not, I understand.**

* * *

**I would love for you to answer a specific question I have for each chapter!**

**_Who do you want and think will die in the bloodbath?_**

**_Thoughts on what the arena is (or what it could hold)?  
_**

**_Favourite POV?_**

**And, of course, a general review on my writing? It's invaluable!**

* * *

**So here we are. I'm not that proud of this chapter, but this one is always hard to nail because nerves have to be incorporated and blah blah blah.**

**The arena is revealed! I hope people have a vague idea, otherwise I've failed as an author. Or it's a good thing, I don't know.**

**I just want to say to all submitters that I appreciated your character. All of them actually. For the first time ever, I've loved every single character to the moon and back. They've been easy to relate and write (some more than others), but deaths are now going to happen. I hope people understand their tributes chances.**

**Oh, hi Hermes, you're getting old but I love you still.**


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